


Remy Sanders and a Bunch of Idiots

by Avery_Kedavra



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Has Panic Attacks, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Birthday Cake, Birthday Fluff, Birthday Party, But He Won't Admit It's Friendship, Complete, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Food, Friendship, Gen, Helping People Sleep, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Insecure Logic | Logan Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders Angst, Logic | Logan Sanders Needs a Hug, Love, Morality | Patton Sanders Angst, Morality | Patton Sanders Needs a Hug, Morality | Patton Sanders is a Sweetheart, Not Eating, Platonic Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Remy Sanders - Freeform, Remy Sanders Is A Good Friend, Remy Sanders Needs a Hug, Remy is a potty-mouth, Remy thinks everyone hates him, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Sides Angst (Sanders Sides), Sleep, Sleep Deprivation, Swearing, Warning: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Warning: Deceit Sanders, basically they all angst one at a time, but we all love him, even though he's not canon, everyone is sympathetic, friends - Freeform, he's our sleepy gay boy, pushing people away, remy sanders angst, self-deprecation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22378762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avery_Kedavra/pseuds/Avery_Kedavra
Summary: Remy, aka Sleep, really hates his job. Every time he can't make Thomas catch some Zs, he's the villain. Even when literally all the other Sides are working against him.Virgil has his anxiety attacks, and it takes Remy hours to calm him down.Logan has friends, work, and sleep--guess which one he decides is unnecessary?Patton's usually good with this stuff, but sometimes even the Pop gets upset.Roman has those stupid creative binges, and he's the absoluteworstwhen he's tired.And Deceit? Well, if Deceit can't sleep, no one can.Remy's only helping them out for his job, of course. He doesn't actually care about their stupid emotional problems. And there's no way they'd care about him, anyway.Or: Five times Remy helped the Sides sleep and one time they returned the favor.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Deceit Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Logic | Logan Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Morality | Patton Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Deceit Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Deceit Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders, Sleep | Remy Sanders & Everyone, Thomas Sanders & Sleep | Remy Sanders
Comments: 103
Kudos: 660





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, kiddos, I made a Tumblr! I'm @AveryKedavra. If you have a high tolerance for strange rambles, follow me! I might end up posting some fics on there too.

Remy didn’t make mistakes. That was just a fact.

Sure, he did things other people might call mistakes. Like the time he went to a concert instead of helping Thomas sleep. Or the time he had one too many pumpkin spice lattes and ended up on a street corner in Orlando. Or the time he tried to create the ultimate coffee beverage by combining every caffeinated drink he knew. It was disgusting. He couldn’t fall asleep for three days.

Other people might count those as mistakes. That’s because other people were idiots.

Remy was used to idiotic other people. They just didn’t understand his magnificence.

They didn’t understand that none of those were really actually Remy’s fault.

The concert was in the Imagination. Remy couldn’t help that Roman had placed the concert right next to the Dragon Witch’s lair, forcing Remy to walk almost a mile out of his way to avoid being spelled and/or roasted. It also wasn’t his fault that Roman had made the concert too long. He couldn’t have foreseen that!

He also didn’t mean to end up in Orlando. But all the Ubers he called were like, super sketchy, so he didn’t want to show them where Thomas lived. Thomas should be thanking Remy for the protection! Instead, he griped about driving to Orlando at three in the morning. Well, boo-hoo for you. Remy hadn’t exactly had the most fun night either, but did you see _him_ complaining about it?

Also someone should have totally warned him about the Ultimate Coffee. Logan was right there. He could have helped.

On the bright side, he got his job done for about three days. Super vigilant.

On the not-super-bright side, he crashed on the fourth and slept for almost thirty hours.

And Thomas was pissed, because if Sleep was sleeping then Thomas couldn’t.

Thomas kinda hated him at this point. Remy didn’t blame him for that. He got it, y’know? Everyone wanted a piece of Sleep, and if Remy wasn’t exactly where he needed to be from exactly 9:30 to 8:00, he was the villain. Sure. Fine. Whatevs. At least he came by at all, okay? At least he tried his goddamn best. But Thomas could put that in his latte and drink it because Remy gave zero shits what Thomas thought about him.

The other sides kinda hated him too, because Thomas hated him and Thomas called the shots.

Logan hated him because he wasn’t there when he needed to be. And that he showed up when he wasn’t supposed to. Logan had a schedule and Remy didn’t really _do_ schedules. But at least he was cordial, in a big-ass-stick-up-my-ass kind of way.

Roman also hated him because he thought he was more important. Roman would gladly stick Sleep in the dumpster to work on another video. Also, Remy challenged Roman’s spot as the most extra in the Mindscape. Roman, the little drama queen, didn’t like being upstaged.

Well, Patton was nice enough. He always tried to get Remy involved, give him breakfast, ask how he was doing. Once, he even tried to give Remy a Patton Hug.

Patton Hugs were the most valuable commodity in the Mindscape. They were life-changing. Nobody knew quite how Patton did them the way he did, full of love and affection and happiness. But Logan and Roman were powerless against them, and even Virgil seemed dazed afterwards. On one memorable day, which involved a chicken, a French test, and five gallons of blue paint, Patton actually ended up hugging _Deceit_. Deceit hadn’t been the same for weeks afterward.

Patton tried to give Remy a Patton Hug. And Remy…ducked away and took a sip of his coffee.

‘Cause yeah, no. He didn’t want a pity hug from Patton. He also didn’t want to be blinded by affection and optimism. Screw affection and optimism. Remy got along just fine by being a cynical bitch.

And Patton probably hated him too, deep down. Remy wasn’t his friend or anything. He never sat in on their little philosophy discussions or watched movies in onesies. He was just the weird caffeine-addicted function who watched drama videos on the couch or popped in to steal a cookie.

Most of the time, the Sides just ignored him.

Which was fine. Great. Peachy. Remy’d asked for this. He wanted to be left alone.

At least they just ignored him. The Others weren’t so non-contact with their hatred. The last time Remy visited, he’d gotten a steak knife embedded in his chest. It took weeks to get the stains out.

And no, he wouldn’t call them the Dark Sides. Like…c’mon. Remy didn’t pick sides in the little morality crisis Thomas wouldn’t stop having. Remy was a mediator, a spectator, an unbiased juror. He could easily ally himself with the Main Sides. He could not-as-easily gain the favor of the Others. But that would limit his prospects. He couldn’t be _himself_ in a teeny-tiny good-or-bad box. He was too bitchy to be a good guy and too non-murdery to be a bad guy.

So he was just…there. In the background, silently watching the world unfold. On the outside and perfectly _fine_ with that, okay? Getting close to Patton or Logan or god-forbid, Roman would require work. Remy didn’t do work. And caring was the most work of all.

See, when you care about someone, you have to show it. You have to be there for them every hour of every day. You have to watch every word you say and never be a bitch and always put them before you. You can’t just care halfway, or they’ll hate you even more.

It was better to just let them hate him. Better than trying hard and being hated anyway.

Everyone hated Remy, Remy hated everyone, and life went on just fine.

Except. Except he didn’t hate everyone, and not everyone hated him.

Except there was Virgil, and Virgil was different.

When they were younger, Virgil wasn’t different. Remy and Virgil, Sleep and Paranoia, were opposed to each other from the start. Remy would just manage to get Thomas to sleep and Virgil would jolt him awake, worried about a test tomorrow or the dark or whatever was in the closet. Nights on end would end with crying and begging for his mom to take away the monsters.

It got a little better after Thomas got older, but then Virgil was back with a new weapon. Overthinking.

Every night, Virgil played a Greatest Hits of Thomas’ failures. Every single night, instead of sleeping, Thomas would relive an embarrassing conversation with his crush or the time he peed his pants in the chorus concert or a stupid thing he said to a friend _four years ago._ Remy found it absolutely _infuriating._ And of course Thomas and the Sides blamed _him_ for Thomas’ sleeping habits, not Dark Vader, leader of the Anxiety Empire.

He hated Virgil. Virgil confessed later that he didn’t hate Remy, but when Remy pushed he snapped back, like a taut rubber band.

So they argued. Day after day, night after night, they fought. Sometimes Remy still heard the echoes of the names they called each other, the blows they took, the soft spots they poked.

_You’re useless! All you do is make Thomas miserable!_

_You’re just a stupid nameless function. Nobody cares about you._

_Bitch!_

_Asshole!_

_Piece of shit!_

It went on for years. Neither gave in, neither emerged victorious. It just kept going.

And it could have gone on for years longer, too. If Virgil hadn’t shown up one night at two in the morning, and if Remy had gone with his gut instinct and slammed his door in Virgil’s face.

But he did, and he didn’t, and everything changed.

Remy could still remember every detail of the conversation. It was funny, because it wasn’t a conversation that started out as life-changing.

_”Hey—hey, Sleep?”_

_“Yeah? What are you doing here, gurl? It’s like two in the morning.”_

_“I…I wanted to ask you something.”_

_“Spit it out, then. Haven’t got all night.”_

_“Um…well…”_

_“Do you want to mess with Thomas again? ‘Cause Starbucks knows you don’t need my permission to do that.”_

_“No…this isn’t about Thomas. It’s about…me.”_

_“C’mon, just ask.”_

_“Well—actually, um, never mind.”_

_“And now I’m curious! What the hell was that for if you’re not going to ask me anything?”_

_“Never mind, okay? Just—goodnight, Sleep. Goodnight.”_

Virgil had turned around and started to walk away, looking very, very small.

And Remy did something completely out of character and something he would never regret.

He placed a hand on Virgil’s shoulder and asked if he was okay.

Virgil’s face in that moment—it was like Remy had painted his face rainbow and proclaimed he was the Gay Lord, Savior to all the Gays. Like Remy had fought a dragon or something. Like Remy had done something surprising, something shocking even, but finally something right.

And Virgil had started shaking, right then and there, sinking into a ball on the floor and shaking.

An anxiety attack. Remy didn’t have them, but he knew what they looked like.

So he sat on the floor next to Virgil and rubbed his back and counted out four-seven-eight until Virgil’s breathing steadied and his hands unclenched from his hoodie and he opened his eyes.

It all came out after that. Virgil had been having trouble sleeping thanks to his anxiety, and lack of rest just made anxiety worse. It had gotten so bad that he went to Remy, who hated him, to ask if Remy could help him sleep.

Virgil had faced down Remy because he wanted help. And even though Remy had turned him away, he opened up to him.

Remy couldn’t really say no, could he?

That’s how he ended up carrying Virgil back to his room and sitting with him on the couch, rubbing his shoulder and sending little sleep-waves until Virgil’s breathing slowed and he leaned on Remy’s shoulder, fast asleep. Remy had to admit it was sort of adorable. Virgil was smaller and skinnier than most other Sides, and he made little snores while he slept, and his bangs fluttered over his eyes with every one.

Remy left Virgil curled up in the middle of his too-big bed, clutching to a blanket, his face peaceful.

Telling himself this was nice and all, but he couldn’t come back the next night.

He came back.

For years, he came back.

Some nights were good, barely requiring any effort at all. Virgil was playing on his phone or listening to music or already asleep when Remy checked in. On those nights, Remy just said “Night, gurl,” and left.

Other nights were bad. Those were the nights where Virgil was convinced Remy hated him and screamed for him to leave, or had gotten a lecture from Deceit and wouldn’t come out from under his covers, or had another anxiety attack Remy had to coach him out of. Those were the nights that always ended with Virgil curled up next to Remy on the bed, clinging to him like a koala, head pressed into his shoulder.

Thomas hated those nights because Remy wouldn’t show up for hours. A small price to pay, especially since Virgil toned down the overthinking in response.

Remy did this for years. Even after Virgil started appearing in videos and making friends with the Main Sides, Remy still looked after him. Virgil didn’t really trust the other sides yet, and he was usually up later than they were. And Virgil said he always slept best with Remy around. Not just because of Remy’s sleepy-powers, but because Remy was safe. Remy was trusted.

It was a strange feeling, to be trusted.

Especially since Remy didn’t trust Virgil.

He didn’t trust him to go to sleep. He didn’t trust him not to panic. He didn’t trust him to see his own worth.

Remy didn’t trust Virgil with his secrets, even though Virgil had shared his. This wasn’t about Remy. Virgil never asked, and Remy never told. He didn’t even tell his name, although Virgil did. Everyone thought he was just Sleep.

He didn’t trust Virgil at all.

He didn’t really care for him, either. If he cared, he would try to fix the problems that plagued Virgil or try to bolster the self-esteem he lacked. But all Remy could do was help Virgil sleep, which was, in the grand scheme of things, kinda pathetic.

But he liked Virgil. He didn’t trust him, didn’t care for him, but he liked him. Virgil was funny, smart, and kind. He had a cynical sense of humor that appealed to Remy. He wasn’t turned off when Remy was bitchy. He got it.

It was relaxing, and it was wonderful.

Then everything changed again.

Remember how Remy didn’t make mistakes? Well, that was still a fact. But if he were to find one _single_ thing as a tiny, possible, maybe-sorta-kinda-if-you-looked-at-it-the-right-way mistake, it would be this.

Just two nights. Remy missed two nights. Thomas had a convention coming up and he needed his rest, and he was sick, so Remy had to watch over him all night to help him back to sleep. He only skipped two nights with Virgil. He assured himself nothing much could go wrong in two nights. Besides, Virgil was pretty close with the Main Sides. Surely they would help if they saw anything amiss?

Remy was wrong. So, so, wrong, and it almost cost him everything.

Just two nights without Remy. Two nights alone.

And Virgil ducked out.

Remy couldn’t quite blame himself for Virgil’s disappearance. He’d love to, but he couldn’t. Sure, the timing was right, but a bitchy function probably wasn’t the only cause. Something else probably happened, or he just got fed up. Remy knew a million things could have happened.

He also knew, if he was there, he could have stopped him.

But he wasn’t, and he didn’t, and Virgil ducked out.

Thank every caffeine deity known to man that the others were quicker on the uptake than Remy, and thank every Starbucks in the country that they’d been able to talk Virgil out of it.

Remy only found out what had happened a few hours after the fact. When Logan informed him of their little adventure, Remy may have flipped the teensiest bit out. Logan was kind enough to never mention it again, and Remy tried to block the incident from memory, but he remembered there was a lot of yelling involved. And maybe a little crying, too.

When he reunited with Virgil that night, Virgil thankfully said he didn’t want to talk about it. Which was good, because Remy didn’t want to think about it. So Remy just did his sleepy magic and they moved on like nothing happened.

Almost.

Because Remy realized something that day—he cared about Virgil.

And he realized something else—that he needed to do better.

He never skipped a night again. He checked on Virgil twice, three times a day. He brought Virgil food when he was hungry and he tried to tone down the bitchiness. When things were bad, he even told the Main Sides. “Hey, Logan, Virgil’s not doing so hot. Can you…?”

Remy cared now, for better or for worse. And he couldn’t care halfway.

Some might say caring about Virgil was a mistake. Maybe so, but Remy couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

And it was only one person, after all. It’s not like he cared about the rest of the Sides.

That would leave him completely and utterly screwed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter, I deleted half of it by accident. To make up for it, extra-long chapter now! Enjoy, my kiddos!

Remy was lying in a recliner with his legs kicked over the back and his head leaning on the armrest, watching beauty tutorials on his phone and sipping a caramel macchiato. Patton was cooking pancakes in the kitchen, whistling the Thomas the Tank Engine theme. Roman was sprawled on the floor coloring. Virgil was curled on the edge of the couch, nodding along to a song on his headphones.

It was peaceful.

Which was a goddamn rarity.

After the whole Virgil-ducks-out-because-Virgil-is-a-stupid-idiot thing, Remy decided it couldn’t hurt to check in on Virgil during the day as well. Remy usually slept from ten a.m. to six p.m. so he’d be awake at night, but in the early morning or evening he’d plop on a chair/table/spare bit of counter in the commons and keep an eye on everyone.

It was…not terrible. Nobody bothered him, usually, and he had more excuses to steal Patton’s excellent food.

It also wasn’t great. Because the more time Remy spent around these idiots, the more he began to realize how very screwed up they all were.

Every day there would be an argument. Roman would get super insecure or Patton would be faking a smile or Logan would deny that he had feelings and instead of talking it out like sensible humans they just took it out on each other. They’d fight over and over until someone cried or was forced to apologize or simply got distracted and forgot. Remy wondered how they had the energy. He was useless without his bean juice and eight hours of beauty sleep. But with the exception of Logan, they were woefully un-caffeinated. Yet they still managed to fight so often…

Actually, maybe it made more sense than he thought. Remy was such a bitch without coffee. No wonder they were such assholes. They didn’t have their daily bean juice.

That would be the second stage of Remy’s plan. The first would be to slap some sense into the drama queens and tell them to talk out their goddamn feelings before he got a migraine. Then he’d feed them some coffee and tell them to watch their Disney movies and be friends again.

Not because he cared about them or anything. But because when they argued, Virgil got upset, and then he got hurt, and then he blamed himself and then Remy would be counting four-seven-eight at two in the morning and reassuring Virgil that he deserved love and happiness. Which was no fun for anyone involved.

He wanted to shake them. He wanted to yell at them and tell them, “Don’t you see you’re hurting him? Can’t you try to be better?”

Virgil didn’t believe he deserved his friends. Remy knew better. His friends didn’t deserve Virgil. Snarky, subtle, insecure Virgil, who had fought so much to end up here.

Remy glanced at Virgil, who had a trace of a smile on his face. Good. Out of the danger zone. Maybe this would be a good day.

That thought was immediately ruined when the door slammed open.

Logan strode through the living room and into the kitchen, shoes clicking brusquely on the tiles.

“Hey, Lo!” Patton said with a smile. “How are you?”

Logan grunted, reaching for the coffeemaker. He quickly poured himself a giant mug of coffee and began to drink it superhumanly fast.

“Aww, Logan, be careful!” Patton reached for his mug. “You shouldn’t drink so much or you won’t have any room for breakfast!”

Logan slapped Patton’s hand away. “Just let me drink my fucking coffee.”

Remy almost spit out a mouthful of caramel macchiato. It wasn’t even the swearing that surprised him. It was the rough edge to Logan’s voice, anger heating his words. Remy tilted his head to take a closer look at Logan. At first glance, he seemed normal. But his hair was messier than usual and his tie was lopsided. His fingers were tapping manically on his leg.

Patton blinked. “Lo…are you okay?”

“I’m fucking peachy, thank you.” Logan leaned over to the coffee-maker and filled his mug again.

“You sure? Because you’re acting…” Patton frowned. “…not nice.”

“Oh, get off my back. Sorry I’m not up to your usual standards, but some of us have a little bit of trouble being fucking Teletubbies all the time.”

Roman was watching Patton and Logan with the air of someone witnessing a train wreck. Virgil had pulled off his headphones. Now he stood up.

“Logan,” Virgil began cautiously. “How did you sleep?”

Logan snorted. “Bold of you to assume I slept.”

“You didn’t sleep at _all?_ ” Patton’s eyes widened. “But sleep is important! You’re always telling us that, why didn’t you follow your own advice?”

“Sometimes work is more important.” Logan took a long sip of coffee. “I sacrificed my play-nice attitude so Thomas can be productive. You’re welcome.”

Roman frowned. “Egghead, you don’t play nice. You are nice. We’re friends! I think I would notice if it was all an act.”

“Really?” Logan asked coldly. “You’re not exactly the most observant person I know.”

“Hey, whoa.” Patton stepped forward. “This is getting ugly. Why don’t we take a break? Logan, can you—”

“Way ahead of you.” Logan tossed his mug in the sink and walked towards the door.

“I didn’t mean leave,” Patton protested. “I meant, we should talk about—”

“How about no!” Logan opened the door, sending it flying into the wall with a thud. “Fuck you guys! Have fun!”

Another slam of the door and he was gone.

The noise echoed in the sudden quiet.

“Well,” Patton said, staring after Logan. “That was something.”

“Uh, understatement much?” Roman waved his arms at the door. “He’s acting fisher than the kraken’s crack! More nuts than a squirrel’s midnight snack! Meaner than the Grinch himself! Stranger than—”

“We get the point, Princey.” Virgil held up his hand. “He’s acting weird.”

“It makes sense,” Patton said. “He always gets irritable when he loses sleep. If he really missed a whole night, then I guess it’s no wonder he’s—”

“—being an asshole,” Virgil finished, ignoring Patton’s gasp of horror. “What? It’s true.”

“So what do we do?” Roman asked. “There’s nothing for me to stab with my beautifully manicured sword, so I feel beautiful, manicured, and useless.”

“We should let him calm down,” Patton suggested. “Maybe he’ll take a nap and feel better later?”

“He won’t take a nap,” Virgil said. “He’ll just keep working. You know him.”

Patton deflated slightly. “I should have checked on him last night. Maybe he would have gotten some sleep then.”

“Not your fault,” Virgil said, walking over and touching Patton’s shoulder. Roman walked over as well, ruffling Patton’s hair.

“Yeah, Padre! It’s not your fault sleep avoided our lovely logical side last night!”

And okay, Remy knew what Roman meant. Okay? But he couldn’t help but hear something slightly different.

_It’s not your fault Sleep avoided our lovely logical side last night._

Because Remy wasn’t where he was supposed to be, he was the villain. Again.

Fine. Sure. Why not.

Except it wasn’t his goddamn fault!

“Yo, don’t blame me, gurl!” Remy snapped before he could think. “Logan’s stubborn as shit, I couldn’t get the girl to sleep if I promised I’d make Pluto a planet again.”

Roman furrowed his brow, confused. “I…I didn’t—”

“Spare me the compliments,” Remy said, flipping off the couch and brandishing his Starbucks cup like a can of mace. “Logan made his own choices.”

“…But…” Virgil spoke up quietly. “I thought you…I thought all of us…you don’t just do it to me…right?”

Remy stared at Virgil, uncomprehending. Then it clicked.

Virgil thought Remy checked on the rest of them, too.

Which he didn’t, of course. Remy had never said anything to the contrary. But Virgil seemingly figured it was Remy’s job to check on Virgil. Or that Virgil was a package deal. Oh, that boi. He needed some goddamn confidence sometimes. Some mother-effing self-esteem. Maybe coffee would help with that.

“No, I don’t.” Remy took a sip of coffee.

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t want to, I don’t have to, and I don’t have time.”

Virgil frowned. “Sleep, you know that the Sides’ sleeping patterns affect Thomas?”

“Only if a bunch are up late,” Remy said. “Not only one.”

Virgil lowered his gaze. “Sleep…can you check on Logan? Get him to sleep?”

Roman and Patton nodded along, clearly confused but supportive of Virgil’s idea.

Remy rolled his eyes. “I have better things to do, babe.”

“Please?” Virgil bit his lip. “It’d make me…feel better about everything.”

Goddammit.

Remy considered himself mainly immune to persuasive tactics. But Virgil with his sweater paws and his mussed-up hair and his curled-in shoulders and his dark eyes and his scared expression like Remy would toss his macchiato at his face just for asking—like, what was a gurl meant to do?

Remy made a production of sighing, very loudly and dramatically, pairing it with an eyeroll of astronomic proportions.

“Fiiiiiiine,” Remy said. “I will go babysit your upset little Logic. Relax.”

Virgil’s eyes widened in surprise, and his mouth twitched into a small smile. Which made everything worth it.

Remy waved and strode towards the door. “I’ll go make him take a nap. You can count on me, babes. Now stay there and eat your pancakes and let the big boys handle this.”

“You’re so extra,” Virgil muttered.

“Excuse?” Roman gasped. “More extra than me?”

“I dunno…it’s close.”

Offended Princey noises filled the room as Remy slipped through the door and down the hall.

Remy didn’t bother knocking. He simply made his footsteps as loud as possible and flung the door open with a flourish, calling out, “Gurl, you decent?”

“E equals MC scared!” Logan jumped up from his desk. He adjusted his tie and breathed slowly, looking Remy over. “Sleep. What are you doing here?”

“Checking in on you, babes!” Remy tossed himself onto Logan’s bed and kicked his shoes off. They fell to the carpet with a soft thump. He saw Logan wince as Remy burrowed himself between pillows, taking a sip of his Starbucks and running his fingers through his hair. Probably mad that Remy ruined the perfectly folded sheets. Well, the gurl could suck it because Remy was born for beds.

And honestly? Logan’s room needed to loosen up a bit. Just like Logan himself. Everything was perfectly aligned and shaped. It felt like a video game, too streamlined and perfect to be real. The uncanny valley of interior décor. With an Ikea color scheme and too many bookshelves.

At least his bed was nice.

“What do you mean, ‘checking in on me?’” Logan repeated. “Did I give any indication I wished for your company?”

“Oh, you’re back to the grammar,” Remy noted. “Nice.”

“I’ve consumed enough coffee to be at a somewhat productive level of thinking,” Logan responded, before making a noise of impatience. “Not relevant! Remy, please illuminate me on your reasons for being here or I shall be forced to make you leave.”

“Look. Babe.” Remy took a long, loud sip of coffee. “I don’t want me to be here any more than you do. But things change, people get mad, drama does its drama thing and suddenly your little friends are all ‘Oh, Sleep, you’re so wise and talented and thoughtful, can you please fix our messes for us, thank youuu’ so here we are, bitch, and now I answered your question so it’s my turn to ask a question and I’m asking—”

“Slow down.” Logan rubbed his forehead. “In what way did that answer my question?”

“It did,” Remy said. “Guess you just didn’t understand it.”

“Correct. I didn’t understand it because it made no sense and skated around the actual topic. Please just tell me what you’re doing.” Logan’s eyes narrowed. “Simply.”

Remy sighed loudly and dramatically. “Virgil wanted me to check on you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. The boi is worried about you, Logan. Thinks you need to take a nap and a chill pill. Not his exact words,” Remy added hastily, “but he’s right. You’re being a real bitch and you need to cut the coffee and jump in bed with me before you do something you regret.”

Logan folded his arms. “Well, fuck you too.”

“Not what I was planning, but always up for it.”

“As an asexual and a person with eyes, I’m revolted by the very idea.”

Remy pressed his hands to his chest. “You wound me, my good sir! Oh, my ego! My fragile self-esteem! It’s crumbling in your cruel hands!”

“Enough with the dramatics,” Logan insisted. “I’m not going to take a nap. I have work to do and you are distracting me from it. Please leave.”

“Seriously, babe?” Remy whined. “You spent the whole night working. It’s time to relax! Don’t you feel the teensiest bit tired?”

“Nonsense.” Logan adjusted his tie and sat down at his desk. “I don’t feel anything.”

Remy lowered his sunglasses and shot Logan his patented bitch-you-being-serious look. “Well, you’ve been acting pretty goddamn pissed all morning, so I’d say you’re feeling something beneath that tie of yours.”

Logan rolled his eyes. “You haven’t even seen me all morning.”

“Uh, think again, bitch. I was there for the whole you’re-an-ass-to-Patton-and-everyone-who-cares-about-you shindig. Remember?”

Logan blinked. Realization crossed his face. “Ah. Yes. I suppose—I had forgotten you were there. My apologies.”

“Eh, I’m used to it and I’m not the one you should be apologizing to. You should be sucking up your pride, blasting it into a black hole, and telling the other Sides sorry on your hands and knees because you fucked it up, Logan.”

“There’s probably a more tasteful way of putting that.”

“I like my way of putting that.”

“You would.” Logan rubbed his eyes. “Look, you don’t—you don’t know anything about this. You don’t understand. Can you please just leave my room and let me work?”

“What don’t I understand, babe?” Remy swung himself around on the bed until he was sitting on the side, head in his hands and staring intently at Logan through his sunglasses. “Tell me.”

Logan hesitated for a second, but Remy could see his walls crumbling. He was tired. He’d missed sleep the previous night and was running on coffee, fumes, and spite. And he had tons of work to do today with no help from the others because they were mad at him. Remy would bet five bucks that Logan was too tired to say no.

And sure enough, he started talking.

“There’s too much work,” Logan said. “There always is. I finish one day and I wake up and find another pile of work on my desk. Too much to file, too much to learn, too much to analyze. And if I slip up, who knows? Thomas could be lacking knowledge of something he needs. But…I mean, usually, I’m better at keeping up with the workload. I’m usually able to handle it on my own. It’s just been more difficult lately.” Logan sighed, leaning back in his chair and staring at the ceiling. Remy noticed for the first time that he had glowing stars painted across the ceiling, faultlessly mirroring the constellations of the night sky. “I’ve been helping the others more, doing more things with them. Spending evenings watching movies instead of working. It…my schedule is unbalanced now. Unorganized. There’s already been a few slip-ups in the knowledge department on Thomas’ end. I’m just waiting for the hammer to fall and for me to mess up completely.”

Remy clicked his tongue. “Yikes, babe.”

“Yeah, well, it is what it is, right?”

“Not necessarily.” Remy swished his cup around, thinking. “There are two main solutions here that don’t involve forsaking my wondrous presence. One, stop being friends with the other Sides.”

Logan spun around in his chair, staring at Remy. “What? No!”

“Gotcha.” Remy crossed off an imaginary item on a list. “Seems unwilling to part with chosen meatbags.”

“Believe me, I wish I could.”

Logan’s voice held no trace of anger or teasing. It was simply sad and resigned, but with a tinge of—acceptance. Peace. Like this was okay. Like this was how he wanted it to be.

“You care about them?” Remy asked. It wasn’t really a question.

Logan nodded slowly.

“And here I thought you didn’t have feelings.”

“Again, I wish I didn’t.” Logan ran his fingers through his hair. “It’s all complicated and messy this way, you know? They’re all such…interesting people to have around. And letting them in my life is against everything I stand for. They get in the way of work, of objectivity, of logic—and yet I keep letting them in, because I can’t see a way not to. Their existence is…good. They make me better.” Logan sighed. “But I know I can’t have my cake and eat it too. So for now I’ll have to sacrifice some sleep to be with my friends and get my work done. It’s necessary. They’re more important than sleep.”

And damn, that stung.

Remy didn’t let it show, though. He simply raised an eyebrow. “Okay, then. Second solution? Ask your friends to help you with your work.”

Logan opened his mouth to rebut that statement, then closed it.

“You know I’m right, babe.” Remy kicked a leg in the air and smirked. “Ask them for help! Or at least let them know how overworked you are so they can accommodate that. Communication is important for dumb bitches like you guys. Just talk to someone, okay? Someone who’s not me, because I don’t do feelings-y heart-to-heart nice-people ish.”

Logan laced his fingers together and pointedly ignored Remy’s gaze. “Are you sure they would…welcome such a conversation? Especially after my…less than satisfactory actions previously?”

Remy snorted. “You’re kidding, right? Gurl, y’all are fucking whipped for each other. You little puffballs will forgive each other in the time it takes for a Starbucks shop to clone itself.”

“I…can’t tell if that’s a compliment.”

“It’s me, so…” Remy shrugged. “Probably not.”

“Still.” Logan met Remy’s eyes and smiled softly. “Thank you.”

Remy couldn’t help but feel a little warmth in his chest. He did something right. He didn’t fuck it up this time. He solved a problem.

“Don’t expect this to be a daily occurrence,” Remy warned, sliding off the bed. “I’ve got bigger and better things to do than babysit you gurls, okay? Now get in bed and have a goddamn nap.”

“I thought you said I should talk to the others.”

“Oh, nuh-uh.” Remy snatched Logan’s arm and tugged him away from his desk. “You can do that _after_ you’ve had your beauty sleep. You need it.”

Logan resisted for a few seconds before sighing and snapping his fingers. His shirt and pants morphed into a unicorn onesie. Remy raised an eyebrow higher than the moon.

“Don’t say a word,” Logan warned.

Remy giggled into his Starbucks cup.

Still shooting Remy a dirty look, Logan climbed into bed, curling up against the pillows. He seemed exhausted enough to fall asleep soon, but there was still a good amount of caffeine in his system. Remy leaned over and pressed a hand to his forehead and sent sleep his way. Logan began to snore softly.

Remy smiled to himself and sunk out. Another day’s work. Now he could take a nap of his own and have a nice warm scented bubble bath to wash the feelings off of him. Ugh. It may have gone well this time, but he was _never_ doing this again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I'm two days late with my Will Solace update, but I somehow managed to overshoot the word count limit again in the space of an hour. Consistency is my middle name. Totally. It's on my birth certificate. You can look it up. For--for proof.
> 
> Warnings: minor isolation and negative coping mechanisms, brief description of food, a lot of crying.

Remy didn’t actually force Logan to tell the others. He just loitered around in the morning and evening, sipping loudly from his Starbucks and giving Logan pointed looks over his sunglasses. After a day and a half of this, Logan sighed, shut his book, and told the other sides they needed to have a talk.

So, yeah, it worked like a charm.

Remy didn’t stick around for the feelings after that. But he did forget his coffee cup so he had an excuse to clandestinely sneak past them and catch a few words. He had to know if it was going well, after all! If not, he’d have to stare pointedly at Logan for even longer, and tbh, it was messing with his flow.

But thank pumpkin-spiced seasonal depression that everything seemed to be going well, if the scene of Patton hugging Logan tightly and swearing that “You’re my kiddo and I love you and I will always help you” was to be believed. Virgil and Roman were less effusive with their praise, but they still looked sheepish and affectionate and promised to help Logan when he was overworked.

And Logan apologized in his own roundabout way, too. Of course it wasn’t a real apology, like an actual “I’m sorry,” because that would involve emotional conversation and being a normal human for once. But he did mutter something that might be heard as “I erred in my ways and I apologize for disrupting order.” Remy figured, good enough, right? And the other sides seemed to get it.

So Remy’s job was done. Over. Kaput. He’d saved the day and handled the feelings and made Virgil happy and it was no longer his problem. He napped the rest of the day and the day after that, only giving the other sides a nod in the hallways. Logan tried to approach him a few times in his awkward how-do-humans-work way. First was about a book he was reading—Remy didn’t really do the whole reading thing, it put him to sleep, and most books weren’t very gay—and the second time he just asked how Remy was doing. It was pretty clear he was either feeling guilty about forcing Remy to help him, which was a fair reaction, or he thought this would be more than a one-time occurrence. If so, Logan was sadly mistaken. Remy wasn’t up for making friends. He’d sat through a therapy session and forced the girl to sleep. That was already far out of his pay grade.

Fortunately, Logan seemed to catch Remy’s drift after the second cold “Cool, thanks, nerd.” He stopped saying hello.

Which was what Remy wanted. So yay, everyone wins!

That didn’t explain why Remy almost winced when Logan’s gaze skated over him in the hallways. Sometimes he would even meet Remy’s eyes and open his mouth, like he was about to speak, before shutting it and turning away, a look in his eyes like he’d drank five-day-old coffee. Those instances never failed to make Remy feel like shit.

Because okay, yeah, this was what he wanted. But he was a selfish, needy, clingy little bitch, okay? He liked some amount of attention, even negative attention. He’d like to be more than an end table.

Which was stupid. He couldn’t have it both ways. He couldn’t push people away and expect them to keep paying attention. He couldn’t live his wondrous life and make friends. He couldn’t avoid the sides and act like he hated them and then get sad when—surprise, surprise—they hated him back.

It was how the goddamn world worked. Remy could deal. Remy did deal. Remy had this handled.

He didn’t think about how Logan had thanked him and the warmth that had risen in his chest at the words.

He didn’t _think_ about that.

But hypothetically? If he was thinking about it? He’d say he wished Logan never said it. Because now he knew what it was like to do something right, to be cared about and appreciated, to be an icky-feelings-garbage-rainbow Side. Now he’d had a taste of a new life, sweet and sour and mixed with salt, and the sheer strangeness and newness was enough to intoxicate him.

No matter the downsides. No matter the risks. No matter that he _knew_ they’d get tired of him, they’d hurt him, they’d hate him or ignore him or take over his entire life. No matter that Remy hated work, and caring for people was work of the highest order. No matter the high chances of addiction.

Remy wanted that. Somewhere deep inside of him, he wanted that. A taste of the forbidden fruit.

Guess he was weaker than he thought.

So he went cold turkey.

For seven days. Seven days he didn’t pop up at all in the Commons. He kept to his room, blasting Avril Lavigne at top volume, creating pyramids of empty Starbucks cups and mounds of crumpled chip bags. He binged three seasons of The Office, seven of The Bachelorette, and nine of Keeping Up with the Kardashians (which he watched ironically, okay? Okay.) And it was fine. He was fine. Life was good.

He kept visiting Virgil, though. Because he was still weak, and Virgil needed to be safe and sleepy and not ducking out behind Remy’s back. That was his job. He was already stuck in that web and halfway down that rabbit hole. No turning back.

Virgil didn’t seem to notice Remy’s absence, because he didn’t bring it up at night.

Around the fifth day, he heard a knock on the door and someone called his name. He couldn’t tell who it was over the Taylor Swift, but they left soon after and didn’t come back again.

Which was fine. He was fine. Life was absolutely goddamn fine.

He found himself staying longer in Virgil’s room, talking even when Virgil seemed perfectly alright. Thursday was a bad night, and he stayed half the night, wrapped in Virgil’s arms, afraid to let go for Virgil’s sake and his own. Virgil was warm—he curled into Remy’s chest like a koala, face pressed in his jacket, hair fluttering with every snore, whining whenever Remy pulled away. Virgil was warm and soft and alive. His heartbeat fluttered in time with the clock.

Why did Virgil have a heartbeat? Sides had heartbeats. It was weird. Maybe for realism, maybe because they were copies of Thomas. Remy didn’t know.

Remy didn’t have a heartbeat. He pressed his fingers to his neck sometimes and felt no tell-tale thump of blood. By all natural law, he shouldn’t be alive.

But that led to an existential crisis road he would rather not travel, so he turned up the Beyonce and blocked out the white noise.

Things were peachy.

After about a week, Remy ran out of potato chips.

It was the middle of the night when he realized this. He was half-watching Thomas sleep, half bingeing Parks & Rec bloopers on his phone. He’d been eating BBQ chips on autopilot, but right during a particularly funny part his fingers scraped the bottom of the bag. Chip crumbs dug under his fingernails and the bag made a sad crinkly sound of protest.

Remy glared at the bag as if it had personally offended him. Which, tbh, it kinda had. Now he had to get another bag of chips, which was multitasking and _work_ and something he didn’t feel like doing. He was curled up in a blanket burrito right now, his connection to Thomas pristine, and there were seven minutes left of the video. Why did the bag have to be empty now?

Fine. Whatevs. He scanned for another bag, hoping it would be within reach. He found only empty wrappers and sleeves, his own personal Pacific Garbage Patch.

Was he out of food already?

Well, there was nothing for it. He had to make a grocery run.

Remy wished he could just summon things like the Sides. He’d seen Roman’s imagination at work, crafting intricate creations with the snap of fingers. All he could do was make people sleep. He didn’t even summon his own coffee—Roman had made him the coffee machine that sat in the corner of his room.

Well, coffee machine in the loosest sense of the word. It bore more resemblance to a Willy Wonka creation than a normal coffee machine. The buttons were large and shiny and rainbow and featured names such as ‘Pumpkin Spice with Extra Foam’, ‘Weird Boring Black Coffee for Logan’, and simply ‘Unicorn Tears’.

At least the coffee never ran out, though Remy had never worked up the courage to try the Unicorn Tears.

He sighed loudly and dramatically for no particular reason before closing his laptop and sliding off his bed. His knees groaned in protest and he almost fell over—how long had he been curled up on that bed? He could have sworn it was just a few hours, but he felt like death itself had smacked him across the cheek.

Remy groaned, standing up and making his way over the clutter to his door. It swung open at his touch and he stared down the hallway. Ugh—he didn’t feel like walking. Teleporting would use a lot of energy but at least it would be over quickly. He didn’t want Virgil hearing him, though Virgil had sworn he would go to bed three hours ago.

Remy closed his eyes and tugged himself to the kitchen.

When he opened them again, he was stumbling on the tiles, exhaustion piling up on his shoulders. Goddamn. He must be more wiped than he thought—teleportation hadn’t been that rough for months. Well, nothing a good bag of Salt & Vinegar chips couldn’t fix.

Remy walked over to the cupboard and snatched a few more chip bags. He noticed stocks were low—probably he’d been depleting them too much. He frowned at the almost empty cupboard. Would one of the Sides replenish the stores or would he have to ask? That would be no fun—Logan would probably give him a lecture on eating healthy and treating one’s body as a temple, even though Remy was a goddamn function and didn’t have a body to treat as a temple.

Remy sighed again, even louder and more dramatic, because he could. He grabbed another bag of chips and turned to go.

Then he heard it.

Crying.

Remy looked around. There was nobody around. The lights were off, the kitchen and living room were dark, the TV was motionless.

Maybe he was hearing things. Maybe the week in his room was messing with his brain.

No, that was definitely crying. It was soft and muffled, but he heard it.

Remy looked around again, pulling his sunglasses low on his nose so he could look through the dark unimpeded. Where was it even coming from? There was nobody in the kitchen with him. There was just the living room and the hallway beyond, dark and shadowy and brushed with thick strokes.

Remy tiptoed into the living room. The crying was slightly louder but still muffled. He couldn’t see a goddamn thing in here, even without his sunglasses obscuring his vision. For all he knew, the cryer could be right in front of him.

“Hello?” Remy asked, which was a stupid move, but he was pretty sure there were no serial killers and/or ghosts in the Mindscape. Or at least on this side of the Mindscape. And why would a serial killer be crying?

Maybe it was a ghost. One of Roman’s creations who got loose from the Imagination. Maybe it was luring Remy here to possess him.

Ugh, possession would absolutely kill his complexion.

“Hello?” Remy repeated, filling his voice with annoyance to hide his growing fear. “Someone’s in here, I know they are. Can you just stop crying so I can leave and avoid whatever bullshit I’ve stumbled into, or are you gonna force me to play therapist again?”

The crying paused for a second, and Remy almost smiled. Home free.

Then it started again. Louder.

And whoever it was, they were also trying to talk to him. While crying. He couldn’t really hear the words, but between sobs he caught “…sorry…you can go…bein’ stupid…”

Oh, boy.

Remy walked two feet to the left, stubbed his toe, swore loudly, walked another foot to the left, and turned on the nearest lamp.

Someone was lying on the couch.

Remy didn’t recognize him at first. His cheeks were red and his eyes were redder, puffy and irritated and squeezed halfway shut. He was clinging to a blanket that covered half his body, sobbing into a tissue. He looked at Remy as the lights turned on and clearly tried to get ahold of himself, but more tears ran down his face and he covered his eyes instead.

Patton.

Oh, goddammit, Patton.

Remy felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Patton was the happy-go-lucky one, the sparkly glittery I-am-the-definition-of-dad-friend pop star. It felt fundamentally _wrong_ to see him like this, shivering and sobbing on an ugly plaid couch.

Remy walked over and leaned down, taking away Patton’s tissue and tossing it into the trash can. “That’s nasty, girl. Don’t shove that in your face.”

Patton stared at Remy sleepily. “Roman? Whatcha doing?”

“Yeah, sure. Let’s go with that.” Remy looked Patton over and clucked his tongue. “You’ve let yourself go, huh? What happened?”

Patton started to say “Nothing,” but a fresh wave of tears enveloped him and he began to sob.

“Who hurt you.” Remy raised an eyebrow. “Girl, who hurt you? Was it Roman? He can be an asshole. Or Logan—did he lose sleep and lash out? Was it one of the Others? I swear to god you need to give me names. I may not like you much, but this is just pathetic and makes me want to hit something.”

“I k-know,” Patton whispered. “This is pathetic. I’m sorry.”

“No!” Remy cursed himself. “Goddammit, Patton, no. However you’re feeling is completely valid. Tbh? We all need a little crying-time. Problem here is a little crying-time is turning into a large crying-time, and you’re not even busting out the bonbons and Netflix and best friends. What’s a crying time without best friends?”

Remy wiped off Patton’s face and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “So here’s what we’re gonna do, okay? We’re gonna call in the Ghostbusters, aka Logan and Roman and Virgil. They’re gonna help you out and apologize if need be, and everything’s gonna be a-okay. Okay, girl? You got that?”

Patton sniffled. “You don’t hate me, Roman?”

“Of course not,” Remy said. He crossed his fingers Patton wouldn’t remember this in the morning. “You’re great. You’re funny and smart and really nice. I think it’s physically impossible for anyone to hate you.”

Patton’s eyes sparkled. “Really?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die, stick an eyebrow pencil in my eye.”

Patton beamed, lunged forward, and hugged Remy hard.

It wasn’t like Virgil’s hugs. Virgil hugged softly and hesitantly, almost clinging onto Remy’s arms, making sure he wouldn’t disappear. Patton hugged firmly and full of love. It wasn’t a Patton Hug—it was too late at night, Patton was too tired and loopy and sad, and Remy was too tired and uncomfortable and still pretending to be Roman. But it was still wonderful. Remy bit back a sigh as Patton buried his face in Remy’s shoulder, squeezing him for dear life.

Remy stroked Patton’s hair and pulled him up, settling on the couch next to him. Patton obediently lay out on the couch, his tiredness betraying him.

“Now go to sleep, Pat.” Remy rubbed Patton’s head and sent sleep towards him. “You’ve gotta rest. Things will look better in the morning. It’s like John Mulaney says—when you think everyone hates you, go to sleep.”

Patton made a little snorting noise. “But what about talking to Lo and Virge and—”

“Tomorrow.” Remy pressed his thumb against Patton’s forehead, feeling Patton smile against his leg. “Worry about that tomorrow. You’ve gotta sleep now. You’re tired and you need to sleep.”

“Yeah,” Patton whispered.

And after a minute, he was snoring.

And, Remy might add, drooling. All over his jeans.

Okay, he was done here.

Carefully, he slid Patton’s head off his lap and onto a pillow. He didn’t want to wake the guy—he’d have to get him back to sleep again. Fun times. Fortunately, Patton only sniffled a little before turning in his sleep and snoring louder.

Remy paused and looked Patton over. He wondered why Patton was so upset—but that wasn’t his job. His job was over. What, did he think this was some kind of soap opera? That he could save the day and fix everything? That he _wanted_ to save the day?

Because this was nice and all, but it got drool on his jeans, and come on—two nights of feelings in two weeks was a little too many for Remy.

Remy rolled his eyes and turned away, walking towards the hallway. He had no energy left for sinking out, and he was still carrying several bags of chips.

He heard a soft rustle from behind him, and Patton muttered, “I love you.”

Remy turned back around. Patton’s eyes were closed. Of course. He was sleep-talking. Maybe he still thought Remy was Roman. Maybe he was imagining the conversation of the next morning, a conversation that couldn’t be avoided if Patton was still sleeping on the couch. A conversation that would end with that sentence—I love you—and hugs all around.

Because that’s how it went. Remy knew they’d all be fine.

Everything would be fine.

“Sweet dreams,” he told Patton.

And he vanished down the hallway, chips in his arms.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What...what unholy monstrosity have I created...I have become Frankenstein and built a monster never meant to exist, defied the laws of nature itself...
> 
> In all seriousness, sorry for the extra-long chapter. I swear I don't know how it happened. I wrote this in a two-hour writing-fest with ambient music and a set 6:30 deadline. And here we are. 1K words over the chapter goal and with more crying than I expected from this fic.
> 
> So...I'm sorry and you're welcome and thanks for reading.
> 
> Chapter Warnings: Self-deprecation, some self-hatred, anxiety, sleeplessness, overworking, and crying. It gets pretty angsty, 'cause Roman's got issues, folks!

Remy’d written it all down on a poster board made with the flattened backs of coffee cups. His only real experiences with detective work were Riverdale and Blues Clues, but he figured it couldn’t be too hard.

OBJECTIVE: Figure out what the hell happened to Patton and whether I need to kill someone.

REASON FOR INVESTIGATION: If Patton’s sad then Virgil’s sad and a sad Virgil takes longer to fall asleep.

STEPS: Investigate. Find out. Drink coffee.

HYPOTHESIS: I don’t remember what this is but Logan says it’s important.

WHAT TO DO IF I FAIL: Lol no failure allowed.

Remy ended with a flourish of sharpie, looking over his illegible handwriting with a smile. Almost done.

He tacked several pictures of the Sides to his makeshift corkboard, strung bits of red yarn that he’d filched from Virgil’s room at the corners, and scribbled down notes.

A blurry picture of Roman as he fell off a couch, surreptitiously taken by Remy two weeks ago.

Roman: Known idiot, Suspect 1.

A less-blurry picture of Logan with jam smeared all over his face.

Logan: Known asshole, Suspect 2.

One of Patton’s many pictures of Virgil that failed—all that could be seen was a black blur as Virgil scrambled away from the camera.

Virgil: Not a suspect, too anxious to ever hurt Patton.

A screenshot from one of the videos because Deceit hated photos.

Deceit: Known snakey slimey boi, Suspect 4

A picture of Remus naked that Remy had received under his door one morning. It wasn’t personal. Everyone in the Mindscape had gotten one, apparently.

Remus: Known weirdo, Suspect 5.

A picture of five-year-old Thomas sleeping on a table. Remy was proud of that night. Some of his best work.

Thomas: Known idiot, Suspect 3

And simply a doodle of a smiley face with glasses.

Patton: Suspect 6. May just be sad because sadness, and all other suspects are innocent.

Remy nodded to himself. It looked pretty professional, if he did say so himself.

Now for the actual investigation.

It was a fragmented endeavor, to say the least. Remy had to sleep through midday and attend to Virgil and Thomas at night, so the only possible investigatory times were morning and evening. And Remy was still trying to limit his contact with the others, so he couldn’t talk to them. And he didn’t want Patton becoming suspicious and piecing together what had happened, so he couldn’t even be seen near Patton. This left him few options and even fewer ideas. For a few days he simply patrolled the Mindscape after breakfast, listening around corners and walking subtly past conversations. He only learned that Logan didn’t like The Cursed Child and Roman had mastered a new sword move.

So subtlety failed him. Remy probably should have seen this coming, he admitted to himself. Subtlety was not his strong point. He preferred to be blunt, maybe a little harsh, and get what he wanted. Not skulk around kitchens and hope for the conversation to miraculously move to Patton’s breakdown three days ago.

The obvious solution was to be blunt, harsh, and direct. The obvious solution was to ask someone what had happened.

But it couldn’t be Patton. He might not even remember Remy’s words, or still assume it was Roman, but he’d definitely get suspicious if Remy started asking specific questions about that night. Remy needed to keep his cloak of disguise ready and available.

And it couldn’t be Logan. He hadn’t really talked to Logan since the whole therapy session a few weeks back. It would be awkward to start up a conversation now.

Maybe it could be Roman? But Roman hated Remy on sight.

The Others were also out of the picture for the same reason, although they tended to express their hatred more vocally and violently.

That only left one obvious answer.

The next night, Remy sat on Virgil’s bed, leaned back, and started the interrogation.

How are you doing? How is everything with the Sides? Have they been giving you any trouble? Have they seemed upset lately? How’s Patton?

It was not a smooth ride. Virgil, ever the vigilant one, got suspicious by question three. After question five, he gay-up asked why Remy was asking so many questions. Remy mumbled something about mental health and making sure Virgil’s atmosphere was supportive, regurgitating a pamphlet Thomas had read at age fourteen. This, for some reason, didn’t appease Virgil in the slightest. So he started responding to Remy’s questions with more questions. 

The goddamn tables turned faster than a caffeinated cheetah on steroids. Now the detective was the detected, the concerned was the concerning, and Remy was getting kind of intimidated by Virgil’s questions. What’s more, the tone of the questions was quickly moving from what-are-you-doing-you-weirdo-bitch to did-I-do-something-wrong-if-so-I’m-sorry. This was dangerous territory, and Remy didn’t want Virgil working himself into a panic attack.

So he did what any self-respecting red-blooded American would do. He lied.

“Look, babes, I look after Thomas, yeah? I help him sleep every night. And it makes my job _so much harder_ when one of y’all gurls are burning the midnight oil. Something about cognitive activity diminishing exhaustion? I dunno, Logan could explain it better. About a week ago, I could tell one of y’all was outta bed. It wasn’t you ‘cause I’d put you to bed hours earlier. So I checked and I found it was Patton, yeah? And tbh, I didn’t wanna force him to sleep, ‘cause socializing isn’t my cup of java. So I let him be. Three hours later I finally felt him fall asleep. I just wanted to know why he was up so late—usually he goes to bed early. Was he upset? Did something happen?”

A wonderful lie. That bitch Deceit would be proud.

Virgil still looked suspicious, but he no longer seemed to be assuming he’d done something wrong. That was good enough for now.

“Well, if you want to know something about Patton,” Virgil said, “why don’t you ask Patton?”

Because he couldn’t let Patton on that he’d helped him that night. Because Patton would either get weirded out and hate Remy even more, or he’d use that as an excuse to drag Remy into the friend circle. Because either way would be a disaster. Because Remy didn’t want to trigger him and make him cry again and be forced to clean up the mess. Because Remy didn’t want to face him.

“I don’t know him well enough,” Remy said. “He’s a weird girl. Super bubbly. We don’t interact.”

“Fair,” Virgil said. “But I don’t know, Sleep. Maybe he was just working on a project?”

Remy frowned slightly. “Maybe.”

He’d struck out on his final lead. It looked like the detective mission was over. The story was concluded. Remy had followed the clues and found no answer.

He spent a day wallowing in self-pity and another day waiting for a clue to dramatically reveal itself. It was the sort of thing that happened all the time on TV, but apparently the real world didn’t have a good sense of dramatic timing. No clue occurred.

Two weeks later, Remy was living off potato chips again, keeping interactions with the others to a bare minimum, and had almost forgotten it happened.

Then things took an interesting direction.

Remy had checked on Virgil, forced him to sleep, watched a few Vine compilation videos, beamed himself down from above to join Thomas for bedtime, sat at Thomas’ feet and sent sleepy-waves towards him—and nothing.

For a solid hour, Thomas wouldn’t fall asleep.

Remy almost fainted trying to get the guy to sleep. His hands were sweaty and slipping off his coffee cup. He crouched at the edge of Thomas’ bed, leaning on the post for support, trying to pull Thomas off to dream-land. But it was like something was blocking his way. The real-life version of writer’s block. Except for sleeping. See—he was so worn-out he couldn’t think of a snappy quip.

Remy seriously considered just noping out and leaving Thomas to stare at the ceiling and count enough sheep to fill a football field. But he knew Thomas would blame him the next morning when the girl was exhausted. It was always Remy’s fault. Didn’t matter if he tried his goddamn best. Didn’t matter if Thomas had messed up his own cycle playing video games. Didn’t matter if a Side was counteracting him. If Remy didn’t bring the Zs, he was useless and worthless and a failure as a function.

Not what Thomas actually said, of course. But it was what Remy heard between the lines. “Can’t you do better? Why weren’t you here last night? C’mon, don’t do this now.”

Maybe Thomas deserved a sleepless night.

Remy glanced at Thomas’ face, his eyes screwed tight as he tried vainly to sleep. His hands twitched on his sheets and he kept rolling over, trying to find a cool spot on the pillow.

Yeah, no. Remy was a bitch, but he wasn’t that cruel.

Remy sighed. Now he had to check the Mindscape.

This sleeplessness wasn’t normal. Someone was up late, and goddammit, Remy would have some choice words for them.

Part of him worried it would be Patton or Logan, and he’d have to face them after everything. But the other part of him was too tired and annoyed and bitchy to care. They could suck it up. Remy was going to bring them the tea, spill it on their face, and make them clean it up. 

He sunk into the Mindscape with a scowl already set on his face.

Logan’s door was closed. Remy listened and heard nothing.

Patton’s was the same story. Virgil’s light was on, but he usually kept it on when he slept. It made him feel safer. So Remy felt confident that all three were asleep.

He was beginning to worry it was one of the Others keeping Thomas awake—confronting those bastards was not his idea of a fun night—until he saw light under a door.

Roman’s room.

That little bitch.

Remy sighed loudly and dramatically, as usual, and stomped over to Roman’s room, making sure his boots made loud irritated thumps to match his loud irritated mood. He raised his hand to the door, starting to knock, except no. Roman had made Thomas stay up late. Roman had put Remy’s job in jeopardy. Remy wasn’t going to goddamn knock.

He threw the door open. “Bitch, you decent?”

Roman almost fell out of his chair. He was sitting at his desk, lamp on and papers strewn over the top. Remy didn’t bother to suppress his smirk as Roman scrambled to regain his composure, papers sliding all over. 

“Sleep,” Roman acknowledged. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut the bullshit,” Roman growled. “Why the hell are you up so late?”

Roman blinked. “I’m working on a video idea.”

“Well, stop! You can do that when it’s daylight! Right now you’re keeping Thomas up! I’ve been trying to get the girl to sleep for a literal goddamn hour and I am getting kinda-very-much tired of this nonsense? Kay? So can you go to sleep, catch some Zs, hit the hay, and everything else before I stick this cup of coffee up your royal ass?”

Roman’s face flushed with indignation. “Excuse me? I have a job to do!”

“You can do that job,” Remy said, “when you’re not interfering with mine.”

“Look, it’s not my fault you can’t make Thomas sleep.” Roman turned back to his desk, sliding another paper on top and beginning to scribble with a peacock-feather pen. “Try harder, maybe? Give it a hundred-and-ten percent. I’m engaged in very serious working activities and I’m not going to stop for you and your sunglasses of destruction.”

Remy tilted said sunglasses of destruction down and looked over them with disdain. “Try harder? Girl, I’ve been _trying_ for an hour!”

“Again, not my fault.” Roman waved his hand. “Maybe you should just let Thomas stay up. Give him some of that coffee you’re always carrying around. Go on a mighty quest and slay a dragon. Just…just leave. You’re poisoning this space of creativity and wonder with your negativity and blah-ness.”

Remy stared at Roman’s ear, because he wouldn’t turn around. A bit of hair curled around his ear and there was a smear of something blue on his cheek. His eyes were focused on the papers in front of him. At his feet were more papers, some crumpled into balls. More crumple-ball papers littered the floor around him, covering the carpet. A few, Remy noted ruefully, were even on the bed.

“Roman.” Remy stepped forward. “Just go to sleep—"

“Leave, okay?” Roman whirled. “I told you to leave, are you deaf? Go bother someone else, Rip Van Winkle, or I’ll fight you with my beautifully manicured sword and knock your stupid sunglasses off your stupid face!”

Remy clenched his teeth. His grip on his coffee tightened. Roman made another gesture of dismissal before turning back to his work.

Goddamn it.

Goddammit!

“You’re a bitch, you know that?” Remy felt heat rise inside of him, anger and resentment and spite. All the feelings he’d trapped inside rumbled for release. All the confusion, all the failures and mistakes and successes and wishes and dreams. “You’re a real bitch.”

Roman stabbed his peacock pen in Remy’s direction. “Takes one to know one, Sleep.”

And Remy fucking lost it.

“You know what? Fine! I’m a bitch. You’re a bitch. We’re all bitches having Bitch-mas together. But you know what? You know what?” Remy clenched his fist and snarled. “At least I’m doing my _goddamn_ job. At least I’m not _hurting Thomas_ because I’m pulling an all-nighter for a stupid video idea you’ll probably _scrap_ the next morning. At least I’m looking after everyone and helping Virgil out of panic attacks and making Logan talk to you guys and putting Patton to bed after he spends the night _crying on the couch_. There’s something wrong with your little family, and if those three aren’t the problem, who does that leave?”

Remy crossed his arms. “From one bitch to another, know when you’ve made a mistake.”

Roman stared at him, mouth open, peacock pen drooping and forgotten. “Wait,” he whispered. “Patton was crying?”

“Yeah, two weeks ago, about.” Remy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t suppose you’d know anything about that, girl?”

“We—we had an argument—”

“Of course you did. Of _course_ you did.” Remy raised his hands. “I can’t even. I can’t even with you guys. I try to be nice and this is the thanks I get? No ma’am. No, ma’am. I’m done. I’m out. Sayonara. You can keep Thomas up all you want, kay? Knock yourself out. I’m gonna take your lovely advice and _leave._ ”

Remy spun on his heel in the most dramatic motion he could muster. He couldn’t quite pull it off, though, given that he was seething with rage. Without looking back, he stomped to the door and pulled it open.

Only to hear a crash behind him.

He looked back to see Roman lying on the ground, half-curled, papers lying around him. He tried to pull himself up, but winced and fell back down.

“Babe?” Remy reluctantly took a step back into the room. “You alright there?”

“Yeah, I’m—I’m fine.” Roman levered himself up to a sitting position, holding onto the fallen chair for support.

“You don’t look fine.” Despite himself, Remy’s anger was fading, replaced by concern.

“I’m just…a little stiff,” Roman said. “No big deal.”

“How long have you been sitting in that chair?” Remy asked, walking over and staring as Roman tried vainly to stretch his legs.

“Just a day or so.”

Remy almost dropped his coffee. “What.”

Roman shrugged, looking sheepish. “I—I have a video coming up soon, so I spent the whole day working on ideas…of course all of them were terrible, like I expected, but I figured something had to be okay eventually—”

Remy’s anger was completely gone now. Roman looked utterly worn out. His legs were crossed on the floor and his elbows were propping him up.

“Honestly.” Remy made the biggest and most dramatic sigh he could and held out his hand. “Here. Come on. Get up.”

“W—what?”

“Take my hand. Get up.” Remy waggled his fingers. “It’s not rocket science, babe.”

Roman stared up at Remy. “You were leaving.”

“I’m still gonna. I’m still majorly pissed.” Remy grabbed Roman’s hand and yanked him to his feet. “But if you collapse, that would be kinda-very-much bad for Thomas.”

Roman wobbled on his feet, walking slowly to the bed and sinking into it, sitting curled-up on the edge. “Sorry.”

“For practicing horrible self-care, messing with Thomathy’s sleep schedule, and making Patton cry?” Remy perched on the upside-down chair, staring him down. “Yeah, you’d better be.”

“I’m really sorry,” Roman whispered, staring at his hands. “I know I’m…I know I’m a jerk sometimes. Or, like, always. I know I’m overbearing and rude and mean and obsessive and stupid and uncreative and worthless—”

“Hey! Hey, whoa, whoa! Hold your horses! Pump the brakes!” Remy held up his hands. “That’s getting _tres_ negative, girl. I want constructive criticism, not Virgil levels of self-hatred.”

Roman chuckled hollowly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Please, for the love of pumpkin spice, stop apologizing!” Remy sighed. “Roman, babes, I forgive you. We’re chill. You messed up—yeah. But you get what you did wrong. And you’ll do better.”

Roman mumbled something to his toes.

“What was that, girl?”

“No I won’t,” he said, louder. “I won’t do better. I try, I really do, Sleep—” His face crumpled and his voice cracked. “But I always mess up. I don’t think I _can_ do better. I think I’m just—bad. Through and through.” His voice grew even quieter. “You can just hate me and it’ll be fine.”

And for a second, the almost-crying creative side on the bed reminded Remy of another almost-crying side saying some of the same things.

_I’ll always be the bad guy, Sleep. They’ve accepted me now, but…but I’m still bad and evil and why do they trust me? I can’t change what I am! I’m bad for Thomas! Bad for everyone! Bad for you! Why are you even still here? Why don’t you hate me? Why—why don’t you? ___

__“Girl, I hate everyone,” Remy said, speaking to both Roman and his memories of Virgil. “It’s nothing personal.”_ _

__Roman let out a shaky sob._ _

__“Hey, hey. Let it out.” Remy leaned forward and grasped Roman by the shoulders. “It’s okay. It’s okay now. Breathe for me, okay? Okay?”_ _

__“P—patton,” Roman choked out. “I didn’t mean to…he hates me, I know he does, he has to…I said I was sorry but I don’t think he believes me…he h—hates me just like the others do, just like L—Logan and V—Virgil and T—Thomas and e—everyone and I thought he was different, I thought I could—could fix it but I ruined it like I ruin _everything_ and I can’t even think of a stupid _video idea_ and—”_ _

__“Yeah. Yeah.” Remy rubbed slow circles on Roman’s shoulders. “We can worry about that in a bit. Breathe. Breathe.”_ _

__Roman cried louder, burying his face in his arms._ _

__Okay, this wasn’t working. Remy needed backup before he scarred Roman forever._ _

__“Can you hold on a sec?” Remy asked Roman. “Please? I wanna get someone to help, girl.”_ _

__Roman nodded slowly._ _

__Remy nodded back, getting up and walking down the hallway, knocking on Patton’s door, throwing it open when he got no answer, watching Patton blearily rub his eyes, and yelling “ _Roman’s talking bad about himself!_ ”_ _

__Patton’s eyes cleared and narrowed. “He’s doing _what?_ ”_ _

__Remy leaned on the doorframe. “He’s saying all sorts of things. He thinks you hate him because of that argument.”_ _

__Patton crossed his arms, managing to make puppy-paw pajamas rather intimidating. “Well, that kiddo knows what’s coming to him now.”_ _

__“What?” Remy asked nervously._ _

__“Hugs.” Patton said the word in the same tone as a soldier might say ‘ambush attack’. “Many hugs. Forever and ever and ever.”_ _

__“Okay then,” Remy said, gesturing to the door. “Have fun.”_ _

__Patton almost sprinted down the hall._ _

__Remy peeked into Roman’s room a few minutes later. Roman was crying in Patton’s arms, the two of them a pile on his red-gold bed. Patton was stroking Roman’s hair._ _

__“I love you,” Patton whispered. “I love you. It’s okay. I’d never hate you. You’re my prince.”_ _

__“R—really?”_ _

__“Always.”_ _

__Roman smiled and closed his eyes. “I love you too, Pat.”_ _

__Remy sunk down into the real world._ _

__And twenty minutes later, Thomas fell asleep, a smile on his face._ _

__And Remy watched him, a smile on his face, too._ _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super-long chapter because I can't stop myself! And a sympathetic needs-help-but-is-afraid-to-ask-for-it Deceit was a slimy snek and made himself morally grey again. Oopsies. Time to update the tags--and while we're at it, update the title and summary and everything. Yeah, you may notice some tweaks and changes in the near future, because I'm a perfectionist and hate everything I do. Still, I hate this story slightly less than most of my others, so I count that as a win.
> 
> Warnings: Deceit, Remus, somewhat sympathetic Deceit, mentions of sex, murder, and other icky things. Basically Remus being Remus.

Remy lived for napping.

Collapsing into a pile of pillowy softness after a long afternoon of work? Perfection. A good cat nap in the fall, curled up on the couch with blankets and seasonal depression weighing you down? He lived for it. Drifting off with a mug of cocoa in your hand, lulled by the crackling of a fire and worn out by the stress of the holiday season? Nothing could bring him more joy.

And sometimes Remy just woke up in a napping mood. Especially if he was stressed or depressed or not at his best.

This week—well, he wasn’t exactly at his best.

The whole thing with the Sides had shaken him more than he wanted to admit. Everything seemed back to normal, of course. Even better than normal, if you counted the brainstorming session where Patton and Virgil tried to help Logan and Roman with their work. A really great new normal, if you counted the marked decrease in arguments and the marked increase in sleep.

Not a marked increase in Sleep, however. Remy still lurked at the edges of their happy new bubble. Tantalized by the offerings before him—Patton’s smile as he dropped a terrible pun, Virgil’s snarky retorts, Logan’s endless nerdy facts, Roman’s singing. Okay, the last one wasn’t that tantalizing.

But still.

Remy wasn’t a creature of want. He usually went from day to day with goals of sleep and coffee. He was the epitome of laid-back. Occasionally he’d pop into the real world and see a concert, but he only did that for fun, not because he’d go insane without alone time. He didn’t want much out of life—just to keep Thomas happy and safe. To varying degrees, he wanted that for the other Sides. If only because they were all parts of Thomas, and Thomas gave Remy his purpose.

Now, though? Remy wanted.

He woke up in the morning and wanted. He fell asleep and wanted. He took shortcuts through the kitchen and popped up whenever he could and listened to their conversations and _wanted._ He felt their warmth and their friendliness and their happiness—their family. They even started appearing in his dreams, always glowing and warm, disappearing if he got too close.

Remy wanted. Remy wished. Remy hoped. Three things that Remy was unaccustomed to doing.

So Remy ignored. Remy snarked. Remy stayed in his room and took a million naps, because things were less confusing when he was asleep.

He knew this couldn’t go on forever, that he’d have to wake up and face the music and decide what he wanted. But tbh? He’d much rather drift about in limbo than open up to the others and be rejected.

Remy couldn’t even imagine what he’d say. “Hey, remember me? Sleep? The function whose name you don’t even know? I know I’m an asshole and I spend all my time insulting you guys, but hey—can I maybe leech off your friendship and warmth for a while? You won’t even notice I’m there.”

He couldn’t just piggyback on their love and support. He’d have to care about them, and Remy wasn’t really capable or ready for that. He wasn’t ready to turn over some new leaves and play pretend. He wasn’t that desperate.

But he was close.

So he checked on Virgil, keeping conversation to a minimum. He sent Thomas to bed, making no conversation at all. He watched TV and ate bags of chips and drank too much coffee and napped through half the day. But the Sides filled every pocket of silence, every moment of stillness, every fragment of dreams.

It was the most goddamn infuriating thing ever. Remy contemplating just stabbing the Sides and letting them bleed out. At least they wouldn’t be alive to annoy him.

Except it wasn’t really their fault, if Remy was being honest. They were just doing their thing. They didn’t know what their smiles did to Remy’s perfectly crafted walls.

Each of them smiled differently, Remy noticed. Patton beamed widely. Roman smiled confidently with a crook in one corner. Logan smiled softly, more mechanically, like he was still not used to human expressions. Virgil barely smiled, but occasionally the corner of his mouth would lift in a small grin—

Which was irrelevant!

Okay, maybe it was time for another nap. Thomas was asleep in his bed, and all the other Sides were, too. Remy closed his laptop—another Roman creation, which Remy had stolen when Roman’s back was turned. Hey, the girl could always make another one. He tossed the laptop onto a nearby pile of pillows, tossed his sunglasses onto a different pile, and dove into bed. His pillow was too warm, of course, so he turned it over and snuggled deeper into his bed. Soft. Comfy. Remy sighed and let his eyes flutter closed.

Of course, that was the moment someone knocked on his door. Three short, sharp knocks, echoing in Remy’s ears.

Remy stayed still, refusing to open his eyes. Maybe whoever it was would go away.

Another three knocks came.

Ugh.

Remy reluctantly tumbled out of bed, snatching his sunglasses and shoving them on his face. He reached for his coffeemaker absently, wanting to inject some caffeine into his veins before any social activity. But the person knocked louder, so Remy reluctantly turned from his godly bean juice and opened the door. He promptly made a noise that was too much like a squeak for his taste—but in his defense, what in the goddamn hell was _he_ doing here?

It wasn’t the last person Remy expected. That would be, say, Dwayne The Rock Johnson. But the visitor was still pretty far down the list.

Deceit let a smile play across his face. “Finally. I was really enjoying waiting in the hallway for you to answer your door.”

“How—” Remy tried to mask his nervousness. “How did you even—”

Deceit glanced around. “You tell me. You’re the one who left your door in the Light Sides’ hallway.”

Had he? Wonderful. Even his subconscious room-moving skills wanted more family time.

“What do you want?” Remy said. Deceit wasn’t wearing the capelet and hat he donned for videos and intimidate-the-Sides time. His yellow shirt was a simple button-up with a starched collar. Gloves still covered his hands, which tapped lightly against each other, the only sign of emotion other than smug disinterest.

“Oh, nothing,” Deceit said, examining a finger. “Nothing at all.”

Remy raised an eyebrow higher than Mercury. “Uh-huh, girl. Sure.”

“What, don’t believe me?” Deceit’s grin glittered with too many teeth. “You know I’m a beacon of truth.”

“Sure, and I’m Oprah Winfrey.” Remy really wished he had coffee right now. “Look, can you run along and do your snakey business somewhere else? Go to Brazil and join some python friends for a while. Better yet, don’t come back.”

“Rude,” Deceit said. “Is this how you treat all weary travelers who come to you seeking guidance?”

“You’re seeking guidance?” Remy asked incredulously. “From me? What, do you want to know the difference between a macchiato and a latte?”

Deceit waved a hand. “I know the difference.”

“Yep. Totally.”

“Stop that!” Deceit groaned. “It’s just wonderful how you keep snarking at everything I say. Yes, I’m lying. What part of ‘I am Deceit’ doesn’t get through that coffee-soaked head of yours?”

Remy blew out a long breath. Deceit’s fingers were tapping faster now. His jaw was clenched. His composure wasn’t gone, but it was shaking, crumbling at the edges.

“What do you want?” Remy repeated. “Spoiler alert: I don’t care.”

“You wound me.”

“I’m not exactly the most helpful function around, babe.” Remy rolled his eyes. “You want actual assistance, go to Patton or something. Or Roman—he’s always had a soft spot for you, though I can’t imagine why.”

“Yes,” Deceit agreed—disagreed? Goddammit, Deceit was confusing. “I’m sure Patton and Roman would love to see me. Besides, they could absolutely help me with my problem.”

Remy wanted coffee even more now because it would be something to throw. “And your problem is?” he asked, teeth gritted, trying to keep Deceit from attacking him.

Deceit closed his eyes briefly as if steeling himself. “I _don’t_ want you to make me fall asleep.”

Now Remy wanted coffee so he could taste it and make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “What.”

“Make me fall asleep. Do your magic sleep-bending rubbish. Knock me out.” Deceit’s tone was mocking. “Need I elaborate? You see, the human body needs rest in order to function, so—”

“Stop.” Remy raised a hand. “I know what you’re asking. Just—why? I don’t suppose you have regular anxiety attacks too?”

Deceit didn’t seem fazed by the question. “Virgil and I _definitely_ have that in common. However, I totally didn’t get the idea from his stories.”

“He…told you? About me?”

“Of course he did. You were his best friend for years, and I was his other best friend. He wouldn’t hide it.” Deceit grinned again. “I’m the liar around here, remember?”

Remy didn’t know how to feel about that. Virgil thought of Remy as a best friend? Virgil told Deceit about Remy’s help? And now Deceit was here, for reasons unknown, asking for help sleeping?

Too many questions crowded Remy’s tongue. He leaned against his doorframe and tried to form words.

Deceit seemed to understand Remy’s confusion. He stared at a point above Remy’s shoulder and continued. “You see, Sleep, I am absolutely capable of falling asleep on my own. Usually things are different, but tonight, well—someone is being very, _very_ quiet.”

“Loud?” Remy stared, and then it clicked. “Oh. Is Remus being an ass?”

“You could say that.”

“I did,” Remy said. “What do you want me to do about it?”

Deceit shrugged, still avoiding Remy’s gaze. “It’s not like your name is Sleep or anything. Couldn’t you, I’m just spitballing here, _make me sleep so I don’t have to hear about wombat poop for the fiftieth time?_ ”

“It’s in squares, right?”

Deceit’s eyes flared with annoyance. “No,” he said tightly, “I have _never_ heard that before and have _not_ just escaped an _hour-long soliloquy_ on the matter.”

Remy winced in sympathy. “Remus can be a lot. Runs in the family, I guess. Roman’s a real idiot too—this one time, he wouldn’t stop singing the entirety of Be More Chill--”

“Fascinating,” Deceit interrupted. “As much as I’d love to stand here and chat about your best friends, it’s nearly midnight and I’m not at all exhausted. Can we get this over with?”

“They’re not my—” Remy began.

“Spare me.” Deceit brushed his fingers over his scaly cheek, the glove catching on the ridges. “If you are not of use to me, I shall take my leave.”

“I mean, I can do my best,” Remy said. “But girl, like, if Remus is still popping around in your room annoying you, he’s gonna keep waking you up. Only so much I can do.”

Deceit sighed loudly. “Well, you’re rather useless, aren’t you?”

Remy shrugged. “Yeah, pretty much.”

That got him a long stare.

“Well,” Deceit finally said. “I guess it’s Plan B for now.”

“What’s Plan B?” Remy asked out of curiosity.

“Let Remus upstairs and have him be someone else’s problem.” Deceit smiled to himself. “Hmm, I wonder if Roman would challenge him to another duel? Or Patton would start crying again? Either way, it promises to be a fun night.” Deceit smiled wider. “Thanks for all the help, Sleep.”

Remy’s mouth dropped open and his eyes narrowed. “I beg your goddamn pardon.”

“You may have it.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?”

“You are excused.”

“What the goddamn _hell?_ ” Remy burst out. “If Remus is rampaging around here like the little shit he is, Thomas won’t get sleep till next July! Do you know how hard it is to do my goddamn job on a normal night? And now you’re proposing you make the rest of us just so you can sleep? Hon, I know I’m a catch, but tbh, that’s a little clingy and it’s _not_ a good look on you.”

Deceit rolled his eyes. “Oh, no, I’m being selfish. Who could have seen this coming?”

“No.” Remy folded his arms. “You can’t do this. I refuse to allow that.”

“Oh, Sleep.” Deceit leaned forward and grinned. “I do whatever I please.”

“I can’t. I can’t even.” Remy raised his hands in the air. “No wonder Thomas hates me! You girls are always getting in the way of my flow!”

That took Deceit off guard. “I totally knew that Thomas _hated_ you.”

“Off-topic,” Remy fired back.

“I have _no_ desire to see Thomas miserable,” Deceit finally admitted. “If Remus stays in one room up here, Thomas will most likely sleep through it.”

“So Thomas is safe?” Remy clarified.

“Safe as a baby in a treetop.”

Remy should have been satisfied. He should have nodded, said ‘Yeah, thanks for the help, have fun storming the castle.’ But something still pricked in his gut, apprehensive and wary and concerned.

“So who?” Remy asked. “Who gets to be Remus’ lucky babysitter?”

“Haven’t decided.” Deceit looked unbearably smug. “Remus is highly skillful at putting all of them down. Roman would take things too seriously, of course, and we’d have a creative duel on our hands. Virgil would just curl up into a little ball like he used to. Logan would be the most boring, I’d imagine—but still, he does live sparring with the Duke. Oh, and our happy pappy Patton!” Deceit clapped his hands together. “Do you think he’d cry? He might. He just loves spending time with intrusive thoughts, doesn’t he?”

“Stop,” Remy said. Disgust filled his voice. “You’re sick. Just—just leave.”

“Your wish is my command.” Deceit bowed and turned to go. Even without Deceit’s snake eye boring into Remy, he still felt the itch at the back of his skull. He still felt the worry snaking through his stomach.

If Remus had free reign in the Mindscape all night, Thomas might not be affected, but the other Sides certainly would be. Unbidden, images of the others came to light. Roman in a fight with his brother, both drawing blood but refusing to quit, mace against sword and creativity against creativity. Virgil curled up on his bed on a bad night, the kind of thoughts Remy talked him out of taking physical form and eating deodorant next to him. Logan trying to reason with Remus, knowing full well he couldn’t leave, knowing both of them were powerless. Patton crying on the couch, so desperate that even Remy was better than nothing.

Something swelled inside Remy.

No.

No, he wouldn’t let that happen. They didn’t deserve that. They were wonderful and amazing and didn’t deserve Remus making their night a living hell. Even if Deceit needed a break.

But he was Sleep. He couldn’t take away Deceit’s night, either.

Then an idea came to him. A simple, brilliant idea that he’d never consider on any other day. But right now, it was all he had.

“Wait,” Remy called.

Deceit stopped without turning around.

“Bring him—bring him to my room.”

This time, Deceit did turn around. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Bring him to my room,” Remy repeated, proud of the steadiness of his voice. “Remus can hang out with me for the night. You can sleep and the Sides won’t be bothered.”

Deceit looked at Remy closely. “Weren’t you napping?”

“I do that all the time. No biggie.”

Something flashed in Deceit’s eyes. Remy couldn’t make it out, but it looked almost like—respect?

“Very well,” Deceit said. “Follow me.”

Remy knew better than to argue with a sleep-deprived Deceit. He followed him.

Deceit walked down the hollow metal staircase at the end of the hall. Remy felt a cold gust of wind lift the hairs on his arms. Beneath them, darkness coiled in piles and shifted when he took his eyes away.

The hallway of the Others—or the Dark Sides, as Roman insisted on calling them—was dingy and damp, unlike the plush woodwork of the Upper Mindscape. A few doors lined the hallway. An unlabeled wooden door with no handle. A bright green door with several scratches and stains covering the surface, a small tentacle peeking through the keyhole. At the end of the hallway was a common room, with only a small golden lightbulb illuminating the kitchen.

Deceit stopped at a yellow door with a black outline. A hammered-gold plague read “Deceit: Come in, I’d love to see you.”

Deceit pushed it open with one gloved hand, and almost immediately, a shuriken embedded itself two inches from Remy’s nose.

“Double Dee!” squealed a recognizably shrill voice. “It’s been too long!”

Remus was sitting on Deceit’s chair by the fireplace. His shirt was bunched around his shoulder, some sort of green mucus was stuck in his hair, and he was tossing bits of fingernail into the fire, making it crackle menacingly. He didn’t seem to have done much to Deceit’s room, although Remy noticed a large red stain on Deceit’s yellow canopy bed.

“It’s been ten minutes, Remus,” Deceit said. His exhausted tone reminded Remy of a mother with a hyperactive child.

“Ten minutes is far too long!” Remus knocked his knees together. “I mean, think of all the things you could get done in ten minutes! You could totally bang someone in ten minutes, if you make it quick. And some murders only take a few seconds! What’s the shortest time it took for you to murder someone, Dee?”

“I haven’t murdered anyone,” Deceit said in a clipped voice. “But if you continue talking, that might change.”

“Ooh! Are you gonna kill me?” Remus leaned forward, eyes glittering. “Can you use a knife? And can you stab me three or four times, slowly, so I can _enjoy_ it?”

“Stop.” Deceit closed his eyes and waved his fingers. Remus’s hand clapped to his mouth. For a few seconds, he made muffled noises. Then a large chomping, splintering sound came from his hand and it dropped to the ground, a large bite mark embedded in the skin. It did a flip, stretched its fingers, and crawled back to the bleeding stump on Remus’ arm, sewing itself back on. Remy wanted to puke.

Deceit gave Remy an almost pitying look. “Are you sure about this?”

For the Sides. For the Sides. For the Sides. They were important, they needed their rest. Sleep was…a necessary sacrifice.

Remy forced a smile. “C’mon,” he said to Remus. “Let’s go on a field trip.”

Remus clapped his hands together. “A field trip! I love fields! They’re great for burying dead people. Did you know if you stab a dead person, they’ll make a noise ‘cause there’s still gas built up in their chest—”

“Let’s just go,” Remy said, walking towards the door. “You’re hanging in my room tonight.”

“Really?” Remus winked. “We gonna have some fun?”

“No, I’m going to watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians and you’re going to rant until you choke and die.”

Deceit made a snorting noise that could be almost construed as laughter. “You watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians?”

“Ironically.”

“Of course.” Deceit strode over to the chair Remus had sat on, wrinkling his nose and snapping it clean. “You know, Remy, I can taste every lie a person says. Or thinks. And you are full of them. They surround you—it’s hard to even focus with all the lies you tell yourself.”

Remy looked at Deceit, and for the first time, nervousness gave way to fear.

Deceit smiled back. “You do care about them, just so you know. It’s pointless to deny it.”

“What?” Remy tried to laugh. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure. That’s why you’re voluntarily spending a night with Remus so they won’t get their panties in a ruffle.”

Remy huffed, pulling open Deceit’s door and walking out. “C’mon, Remus. Let’s go.”

“They don’t hate you,” Deceit said.

Remy froze. “What?”

“They don’t hate you.” Deceit’s face was free of any trace of a smile. “I’d know if they did, but they don’t.”

“You’re lying,” Remy said. “That’s what you do.”

“Is it?”

“Uh, yeah. Duh.”

Deceit sighed. “Very well, then. But, Remy?”

He knew Remy’s name. He knew—how did he know?

“Yeah?” Remy whispered.

“The only person who thinks you’re useless is you.”

Deceit inclined his head and turned away, sitting on his chair, staring into the fire.

And Remy shook himself and pulled Remus along, ignored a long monologue about how jellyfish could totally fit up someone’s butt if you tried, and summoned his room at one end of the hall. He felt eyes watching him—eyes from behind that third door, eyes from the shaking floors and the creaking ceiling, the penetrating eyes of a snake who knew his name and told him that he wasn’t useless.

Remy snapped and a brown stain grew on the wall, the color of coffee spilled on concrete. Soon his door stood in the decrepit old hallway, like it had always been there.

His room didn’t have a hallway. He was a function, not a Side. He had no place, no home, no family.

_They don’t hate you._

Remy reluctantly snatched Remus’ arm, cringing at the stink, and pulled him through the door.

“Hey, nice place!” Remus said. “That’s a coffee machine! Can I make some coffee? Can I cover myself in it? Can I put some up my—"

Remy sighed. He needed some goddamn coffee.

_You do care about them, just so you know._

Remus knocked over Remy’s lamp, sending broken glass over the floor, now yammering about the weapon possibilities of someone’s femur.

_The only one who thinks you’re useless is you._

It was going to be a long night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another super-long chapter as I wrap up this fic! Sorry for the delay--it took a long time to write and I wanted to make sure the ending was perfect!
> 
> Warnings: food mentions, some self-deprecation, fatigue and exhaustion, but this chapter is really fluffy so it all works out in the end!

Time wasn’t the biggest concern in Remy’s life. The Mindscape itself moved slightly slower than Thomas’ world so the Sides could react instantly. And even within it, time was a fragile thing. The Imagination was like Narnia—days in there amounted to minutes in the Mindscape. Virgil’s room did the opposite. Every minute inside was five or six minutes somewhere else. Days and weeks mattered, if only for the deadlines Logan insisted on following. But being a function meant no deadlines. The only time-specific things Remy cared about were the seasons and bedtime.

He didn’t have a calendar or anything, and the days kinda blended into each other sometimes, so the seasons snuck up on him. Once, he _swore_ that he’d started a nap in summer and woken up in the fall. The others said he had just gotten confused, but he _knew._ Somewhere, somehow, a god was messing with him.

Spring was fine. Summer was nice enough. But fall and winter—ooh, those were Remy’s bread and butter. The crispy feeling in the air made him just want to snuggle up with a pumpkin-spice latte and sleep the day through. Perfection.

It was winter now—probably. Maybe it was still fall, but he doubted it. Definitely blanket weather. And that was all Remy really needed to know.

It was evening. The sun was setting outside the Mindscape and Thomas was rewatching Steven Universe. Remy was blasting Avril Lavigne and cleaning his room.

Not his favorite task, but it was necessary. He’d hoped the slime would fall off the walls at some point, but after a week or so it started to congeal and emit a rancid odor. So Remy was scrubbing violently at the greenish mixture splattered on his wall, a mixture of soap and watery slime dripping onto his jacket. Ugh. Goddammit, Remus.

It was worth it—of course it was. But Remy had to keep reminding himself of that as a large blob of slime fell onto his foot.

Finally, he dumped all the slime into a bucket. He wished more than ever that he could just vanish it away. Sadly, he was not a Side and couldn’t do the cool stuff. And the bucket looked super heavy, too. Goddammit, he needed coffee.

Remy sighed, wiping his hands on the edge of the bucket and walking over to the coffee machine. His finger hovered over Unicorn Tears—but not today. He needed an extra boost of energy to finish up the cleaning. Triple-shot espresso. No whip.

The bucket wasn’t even the last of it. Just yesterday, Remy had found a nest of baby octopi--octopuses? Logan would know. It was the sort of thing he cared about. Remus had insisted Remy keep them as a ‘gift’. They were kind of cute, in a blob-of-jelly sort of way. And they didn’t seem to need water. But after one of them revealed vampire teeth and tried to bite Remy’s hand off—and after Remus had admitted they only ate raw meat—Remy figured that cute or not, they had to go.

He was planning to take them to the Imagination as soon as he rounded them all up. He had six of the eight, but two remained resolutely un-found. Playing hide-and-seek with baby vampire octopi wasn’t what Remy had planned for the day, but goddammit, he would _not_ wake up to an octopus chewing on his face.

Thanks to that and the slime? Remy wanted to stab Remus and set a horde of vampire octopi on his corpse. Which was a Remus-y kind of thought, if he was being honest. The girl’s weird-ass yapping had probably rubbed off on him. Along with his smell.

Two weeks, and Remy’s room still smelled like burnt cabbage and manure.

It was worth it, Remy told himself, burying his face in his pillow.

But his bones ached, and his fingers stung, and he hadn’t napped today so he was exhausted, even with the espresso.

You’re goddamn welcome, he thought bitterly. Then he stopped himself. ‘Cause tbh, if he wanted thanks, he could have easily coerced them into giving it. Bleeding hearts, the whole lot of them. Even Logan.

But he didn’t mention the incident, or how close they came to losing a night of rest. He just shepherded Remus back to the Others, ignored Deceit’s piercing look, and never spoke of it again.

So he could hardly be bitter at the lack of gratitude. They didn’t even know what he’d done.

Maybe he could tell them now, and bask in the attention?

Nah. The fam might give him pats on the back, but it would be weird to talk about something that happened weeks ago. He should have mentioned it then, if ever. Now he’d just look super clingy and needy and shit. Especially since he barely spoke to them. They didn’t give a shit about Remy. Sleep wasn’t necessary.

Remy groaned into his pillow. He must have been more tired than he thought. He only got that pessimistic when he’d missed a few days of sleep.

Which…come to think of it? When was the last time he _did_ sleep? He’d spent the day cleaning, the previous night with Thomas, the previous day spying on the Sides and making sure they were doing okay…

He really hadn’t slept for a few days, had he?

Well, shit. Way to be a goddamn hypocrite, Remy.

He rubbed his eyes. Was there time to take a nap? His bed was soft and fluffy like one big pillow, with a little pillow on top, like a pillow baby.

Wow, he was completely out of it.

But he couldn’t nap. He might oversleep—correction, he would oversleep. There’s no way he would just settle for a nap on this thing. Thomas would go to bed and be sleepless for hours, and he’d be mad when Remy did show up, and Remy would get snippy and Thomas would get snippy and maybe this would be the time Thomas finally said _enough_ and tried to replace him. Get a better Sleep, one who didn’t skip town or play hooky or just be hard-to-get. Or just send Remy deep into the Subconscious until he was just a function, with no memories, no connection to Thomas. Like Virgil tried to do.

Virgil. Remy couldn’t go to sleep tonight. He had to check on Virgil, make sure he was okay—if he didn’t, who knew what could happen? The idiot seemed fine, but he seemed fine _then,_ too. It was only later Remy realized what he was planning.

Get up. Get up, get up, you need to get up.

Remy groaned and swore loudly, rolling off the bed and onto the floor. His elbow slammed into the carpet and he swore again, pulling himself to his feet and rubbing the offending bit of bone. Taking a swig of coffee, he looked around, wondering if he should just get another room entirely.

Then there was a knock on the door.

Remy flinched at the sudden noise. Who the hell was knocking? Did Deceit want him to babysit Remus again? ‘Cause fat chance. Even though his sleepy-magic didn’t really work on Remus, he’d give it his best shot. Or maybe just tranquilize the girl.

The knocking continued. Remy thought about answering. Then he looked at himself in the mirror—bags under his eyes to rival Virgil’s, stains and slime decorating his jacket, greasy hair, the way he swayed when he took a sip of coffee. Nah, he wasn’t in a good mood to entertain company.

Remy’s silence seemed to dissuade the knocker. Then they called, “Sleep? Are you in there?”

Patton.

“Sleep?” Patton asked again, sounding worried. “Are you alright?”

Goddammit, now he had to answer. “I’m fine, Patton,” he called, hearing a rough edge in his voice. “Just busy. Do you need something?”

“Can I come in?” Patton asked.

“Just tell me what you want and leave.”

Remy immediately regretted the snappish tone of his voice. But he couldn’t think straight—ha, when could he ever—and his head felt full of clouds, loose and ready to float away.

“I wanted…help with something,” Patton said quietly.

Oh. Wait, _what?_

“Um, have you got the wrong guy?” Remy ventured. “I’m not exactly the helpful type.”

“Don’t talk bad about yourself!” Patton exclaimed.

“That wasn’t really—” Remy sighed. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

“So can you open the door?”

Remy sighed even longer and more dramatically, mostly for Patton’s benefit. He snatched his sunglasses from a nearby table. Maybe they’d help cover up his sleepiness. A quick refill of his coffee cup and Remy was ready to slay.

As dramatically as possible, he tossed open the door. “Patton! How can I be of service?”

“Well, first of all…” Patton looked behind Remy. “Oh my goodness, what happened to your _room?_ ”

Remy shifted, trying to cover up Patton’s view. “Oh, nothing. Just Remus.”

Patton made a sympathetic noise. “That must have been bothersome.”

“That’s a kind word for him, sure.”

Patton nodded. “Is that why there’s blood on your door?”

“What?” Remy looked at the open door. It seemed normal enough.

“Step out into the hallway and I’ll show you.”

Remy stepped forward, dizziness overtaking him. But he steadied himself and avoided Patton’s curious look. “Where?”

Patton gently closed the door. Oh, shit. Spattered on the front was a huge spot of blood, like Remus had fired a paintball gun full of human guts. It wasn’t just blood, either—Remy spotted the tip of a tentacle and a few miscellaneous entrails he preferred not to name. Shit, shit, shit.

“Shit!” Remy exclaimed, unsatisfied with swearing in his head. Patton gave him a reproachful look, which he ignored. “Shit, that’ll take goddamn _ages_ to clean up. And I’d _just_ finished with the slime, too…”

“You know—” Patton began.

Remy cut him off. “So, is that why you were banging on my door? Are we done here? ‘Cause it looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me.”

Patton seemed to deflate a bit, and Remy felt a sting somewhere in his chest.

“S—sorry, Pat. I’m just—” Remy waved his hand at the door. “Frustrated.”

Patton’s smile returned. “Aww, I get it! But can I take you away from work for a little while?”

“Whatcha need?” Remy asked. “I’m not committing to anything, just so you know.”

“Like I said, I need your help. Nothing bad happened, I promise!” he added, reading Remy’s okay-who-screwed-up- _now_ face. “Just…I was working on something and I’d like for you to…see it? If that’s okay?”

Remy looked at Patton. He looked like he was holding back his excitement. The eagerness shone on his face. He was like a precious little puppy dog sometimes. No way he could say no to that face.

“Please?” Patton whispered, tilting his head and widening his eyes.

Goddammit.

“Fine. I’ll help.”

Remy took a sip of coffee to hide his smile as Patton jumped in the air and clapped his hands together.

“Oh my goodness, thank you so much, Sleep! I promise you won’t regret it!”

“Let’s not jump the gun,” Remy said.

Patton didn’t seem to notice his cynicism. “Let’s go! C’mon!”

He practically bounded down the hallway, gesturing for Remy to follow. Shaking his head and wondering how he got roped into these kinds of things, Remy followed. Slower, of course, because he didn’t have endless energy, and because fatigue was still messing with his depth perception.

The hallway seemed longer and twistier than normal, and the carpet was gone, so Patton and Remy’s footsteps rung out. Every few seconds Patton would cry out “C’mon!” much louder than he needed to. Remy rolled his eyes every time, but walked a little faster.

Finally, they rounded a bend and came across the Commons. Or what must be the Commons, but the lights were off and through Remy’s shades, the kitchen and living room might well have been a pool of octopus ink. Remy thought of Remus and shuddered.

Patton gave Remy another gleaming smile, reached over, and flicked the light switch.

“ _Surprise!_ ”

Through great self-control, Remy stopped himself from swearing. He looked around at the lit kitchen and saw Logan, Roman, and Virgil. All three were smiling, Virgil and Logan more sheepishly. In front of them on the kitchen table was a large cake with chocolate frosting and several candles stuck haphazardly on top. Across two of the cupboards (one, Remy noted, where he got his potato chips) was strung a banner, reading _HAPPY BIRTHDAY SLEEP_.

He searched for words and found none.

“So?” Virgil picked at his sleeve, nervousness overtaking his smile. “Do you…like it?”

“This is…for me?” Remy clarified, as if the hand-painted _HAPPY BIRTHDAY SLEEP_ sign didn’t make that clear.

“Uh, _duh._ ” Roman jumped down from the counter where he was perched. “It is your birthday, right?”

“Yeah, it is.” Tbh, Remy had forgotten. He didn’t really keep track of days, and since the past weeks had been so hectic—well, birthdays were the last thing on his mind. He usually just put a little extra sugar in his coffee, anyway. He’d never had the other Sides acknowledge his birthday, much less do…this. “How did _you_ know that?”

Patton pressed his hands together. “Well, um, Deceit told us.”

“ _Deceit?_ ”

“To be more accurate, Deceit told us this _wasn’t_ your birthday.” Logan adjusted his glasses. “We extrapolated from there.”

“You asked…Deceit…when my birthday was?”

“He knows everything. He’s slippery like that.” Virgil shrugged. “And we wanted to know.”

Remy looked around—at Roman smiling, a golden party hat balanced on his head, at Virgil’s shoulders dusted with sparkles, probably from a sneak attack, at Logan’s soft smile, at Patton’s absolute beam.

“Why?” he blurted out.

“Because it’s your birthday?” Patton looked confused. “We always give each other birthday parties.”

“But I’m not…y’know…” Remy drummed his fingers on his coffee cup, avoiding their gazes. “We’re not…friends.”

Virgil shifted. “No?” he asked, voice soft.

“I mean, you’re my friend,” Remy said. “Obviously. But…I dunno…I mean, you guys, we don’t, like, talk or anything…”

This was getting uncomfortable. The smiles were gone, replaced by confusion and concern. Remy quickly took a swig of coffee and tried to smile.

“But it’s great! Really!” Remy stepped forward. “I—it’s really nice of you guys. I didn’t—expect it. Especially with me being an asshole all the time.”

“Are you talking bad about yourself?” Patton said, eyes narrowed.

Roman nodded, eyes full of determination. “We can’t stand for that, can we? Not on this lovely function’s birthday.”

“Sleep, you aren’t perfect.” Logan fixed his tie and steepled his fingers, assuming his Logan-lecture-time pose. “Nobody is. And you’ve surely had your disagreements with all of us. But you’re part of Thomas’ mind and you do your job exceedingly well.” His face softened. “And…I really did appreciate your help, when I was taking part in some…unhealthy habits. You defused the situation and offered a solution.”

“You helped me when I was crying,” Patton added. That got concerned looks from everyone, including Remy.

“Wait, you remember that?” Remy asked. “You thought I was Roman!”

Patton smiled. “I can tell my kiddos apart, you know.”

Remy stared at him in something close to awe. Did that mean—

“You helped me, too.” Roman shifted, his confident stance evaporating slightly. “You were rude, and very dramatic, but you didn’t give up on me when I…lashed out at you. You got Patton instead. And that was…nice, Mr. Sandman.”

“You’re great.” That was Virgil, staring at a spot on the floor, cheeks red. “And funny, and helpful, and…yeah.”

“So we thought, after everything…” Logan gestured at the cake. “This was the least we could do.”

“And maybe it could…change things?” Virgil asked. “You know, if you want them to change.”

“You’re part of our famILY,” Patton said. “Don’t ever think otherwise.”

Roman smiled. “What they said.”

Remy looked around. His words seemed stuck in his throat and heat pricked at the corner of his eyes. It took him two tries to speak.

“I’m gonna be sleeping through half the day,” he warned. “And I’m not good with feelings. And I’ll probably be a bitch. And I don’t really know how to…I dunno, talk to people? Be a friend? That’s not…” Remy waved his hand wildly. He wanted to stop talking, but between the tiredness and the surprises, his filter was gone. “…not something I’m used to. I mean, Thomas hates me, duh. And y’all hate me too, or you did. I don’t blame you, tbh. I’m…a lot to handle, and I’m, I dunno.” Remy stared at his feet. “I try to help, but…I’m--kinda useless. Sometimes. Yeah.”

Virgil folded his arms. “Falsehood.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Sleep, you…” His confidence seemed to waver, but he kept going. “You check up on me every night. You’ve done that for _years._ And you always know the right thing to say to calm me down or make me laugh. You never got mad when I yelled at you, and you always _came back._ You never really said you cared about me or anything, but…” Virgil glanced at Logan. “Well, um, Logan did tell me that you freaked out after…after I ducked out and everything. And not in an oh no, that’s kind of sad way. In a really big way. Like we were…friends. And I guess that’s when I realized that we _were_ friends, even if you never admitted it.” He sighed. “I’m not good with words like Princey, but yeah. You’re—you’re my best friend, Sleep. And you deserve way more than a birthday party, but…I thought it was a good place to start.”

Remy stared at Virgil, who got anxious stringing words together or asking for a few minutes of conversation. Who was still rubbing at his sleeve and avoiding Remy’s gaze, but…but he said they were best friends. He said that, and Remy knew Virgil didn’t lie.

Everything stung, his throat and his eyes and everything. He couldn’t close his mouth—it was set in a hesitant smile.

“Are you crying?” Logan asked.

Shit. Oh, shit. Remy reached up and felt the wetness on his face. “Um, no?”

“Leave the lying to Deceit,” Roman said.

Remy reluctantly took off his sunglasses and wiped his eyes. “Yeah, sorry. Just—gimme a sec.”

“Did I—” Virgil piped up, voice whisper-quiet. “Did I mess up? I’m really sorry, I thought—I don’t know, I thought—”

Without thinking, Remy stepped forward and enveloped Virgil in a hug. Virgil froze for a second before curling into Remy and hugging him back.

“You’re my best friend too,” Remy said. “I love ya, Virge.”

“I—I love you too.”

“Aww!” Patton squealed. “Group hug!”

And two more arms wrapped around Virgil and Remy. Soon another pair of arms joined, and finally, after some cajoling, Logan completed the hug.

Virgil and Remy curled together in the center.

It was warm, soft, better than any bed. Remy could have fallen asleep right then, but after a few seconds Patton yelled, “Now, cake!”

“What type?” Remy asked.

“Coffee cake,” Roman said. “Duh.”

They sat Remy in a chair and Roman snapped his fingers to light the candles. The cake looked really good, and from the lopsided icing, he guessed the Sides had made it themselves.

“Oh, no.” Logan looked at the others warily. “Please tell me I do not have to—”

“Sing!” Patton clapped his hands together. “Let’s go!”  
“I’m with Logan,” Virgil added. “Do we have to?”

“We have to,” Roman said. “It’s his flipping birthday, Gerard Gay!”

Virgil grumbled to himself, but when Patton started the song, he joined in.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear—”

The Sides paused slightly, and for some reason—maybe because he trusted them, maybe because he wanted to cut the awkwardness, maybe because he wanted to be _seen_ as more than Sleep, as a friend, as a family—Remy spoke up.

“It’s Remy,” he said. “My name’s Remy.”

He thought he’d seen Patton smile before, but this grin could light up the world.

“Happy birthday, dear Remy,” they sang, Logan and Virgil more quietly, Roman adding as many riffs as possible. “Happy birthday to you!”

Roman hit a high note on ‘you’ and held it for about twenty seconds. Virgil covered his ears and Logan glared at him. When he finally ran out of air, Patton gave him a round of applause.

“Did you have to, Princey?”

“Yes.”

Remy almost couldn’t blow out his candles. He was smiling too much.

From there, the night only got better. Remy ate three slices of coffee cake, but was beaten by Roman’s four. Logan ate his slice with copious amounts of Crofters on top, a combination Remy didn’t think would work, but Logan seemed to enjoy it.

After Patton had cleaned up the plates, Roman grabbed Remy’s arm and led him to the living room. Five beanbag chairs were already arranged around the TV, with blankets, pillows, and snacks strewn about. Remy gladly fell into a black beanbag chair, feeling his aching muscles relax.

“What movie will it be?” Logan asked, looking over at Remy.

“I get to choose?”

“It’s your birthday!” Patton said. “Pick any movie.”

Virgil leaned over and whispered, “You can’t actually pick any movie. It needs to be kid-friendly for Patton and Roman will throw a fit if it’s not Disney.”

“Okay.” Remy stretched out his legs. His coffee cup sat on the counter, forgotten. “Rise of the Guardians.”

“That’s not Disney,” Roman predictably replied.

“Jack Frost,” Remy countered.

“Fair enough.”

Together, they settled in. Roman snapped his fingers and the movie began to play. Remy cornered a bowl of popcorn and began destroying it—he’d forgotten how good it felt to eat food other than potato chips.

After half an hour, his eyelids began to droop. The beanbag was so comfy…it couldn’t hurt to take a little nap, could it? Nobody would mind…

Remy shook himself and concentrated on the movie. But his actions didn’t go unnoticed.

“Is everything all right, Remy?” Logan asked. “You seem unfocused.”

“I’m fine,” Remy said, waving a hand carelessly. “Just a little tired.”

“Oh, when was the last time you slept?”

Remy searched for an appropriate lie. “I had a nap this morning.”

“It was a very nice nap, too. It _totally_ happened.”

Remy spit out a mouthful of popcorn. Virgil hissed and Roman drew his sword. In their midst, Deceit sat on the floor and tossed a piece of popcorn in his mouth.

“Deceit!” Logan yelled.

“You don’t have to do that every time I show up, you know.” Deceit’s face glowed in the light of the movie. “It’s not at _all_ irritating.”

“What do you want, foul fiend?” Roman asked. “You are interrupting a birthday movie night and that is unacceptable!”

“That’s where you draw the line?” Virgil asked.

“Yes, I don’t have _any_ reason for being here. It’s not like one of you is _blatantly lying._ ”

Remy stuffed a handful of popcorn into his mouth and tried to ignore the suddenly suspicious gazes crawling down his neck.

“What?” he finally said.

“Remy…” Patton said. “Why are you tired?”

“I’m always tired,” Remy said, forcing a light tone. “One of the perks of being Sleep, girl.”

Deceit examined his gloves. “He hasn’t slept in two days.”

“ _What?_ ”

That was Patton, jumping up from his beanbag chair.

“I just didn’t get around to it! I was busy!” Remy held up his hands in surrender. “It’s not that big a deal!”

“I can’t believe I’m the one saying this,” Virgil said, “but Remy, you need _sleep._ ”

“Precisely,” Logan added. “How are you expected to function correctly without proper sleep? You’ve chided us on our faulty sleep schedules before. You should take your own advice.”

Remy watched Jack Frost on the screen, not hearing a word of the movie. “Easier said than done, Specs.”

“Well, maybe we can assist you.” Logan looked at the others. “It’s getting late. Any objections to ceasing our movie-watching and commencing a more restful activity?”

“Sleepover!” Patton squealed, turning off the TV.

Roman smiled, snapping more pillows and blankets in place of the beanbags. “A wonderful idea, Padre.”

“It was my idea,” Logan pointed out.

“Ah. Right.” Roman scratched at his neck. “My apologies, nerd. Good idea.”

The ghost of a smile flitted onto Logan’s face. “Thank you, Roman.”

Virgil curled into a ball. “Less talk. More sleep.”

Deceit stood up, brushing off his cloak. “I shall not take my leave then. Remy, I am duty-bound to deliver a message from Remus. He quite enjoyed your playdate and wishes to spend another day with you sometime.”

Remy grinned. “Tell him never again.”

Deceit smirked back. “I won’t.”

As Deceit prepared to leave, Remy felt something stir in him. “Um, Deceit?”

“Yes?”

“I know this movie night is kind of over, but…do you wanna, I dunno, maybe catch the next one?”

Something flickered in Deceit’s eyes. “I…I’d hate that.”

“Cool.”

“Oh, and Remy?” Deceit smiled, and it was the realest smile Remy’d ever seen him give. “A terrible birthday to you.”

Remy smiled back. “Thanks.”

With a parting wave, Deceit vanished.

And at some point, Remy would have to talk to the others about Deceit and even Remus. Things would change with them around. Hell, things would change with him around. They needed to set things gay and start a new path.

In the nearer future, Remy would need to explain to Thomas why he’d skipped out. But the moment the worry crossed his mind, Virgil whispered, “I’ll explain. He won’t mind” And the idea of not being alone, Virgil’s confidence that his excuse was justified, was enough to make Remy smile. Anxiety and Sleep, working together at last.

Roman lay on a large red pillow, humming Disney songs as he drifted off. Logan was already almost asleep, glasses set on a side-table and tie loosened. Patton hadn’t even bothered to take off his glasses. They were crooked on his face, and Remy reached over and straightened them.

Virgil was curled into Remy’s side, hand clenched around his jacket. Just like every night when he fell asleep in Remy’s arms. But this time, Remy wasn’t leaving as soon as Virgil started to snore. This time, he could stay.

Surrounded by warmth, hearing the breathing of the people he could finally call family, Remy closed his eyes and slept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, I want to say thank you! Your wonderful comments and kudos make my day. And if any one of you enjoyed this fic half as much as I enjoyed writing it, this would be more than worth it.
> 
> Thanks for coming along on this wild, wonderful journey! I'll be taking a break next Thursday, but the Thursday after that, I'll be starting another story. You might even get a one-shot in the meantime. Remy's time in the spotlight might be over, but I've got way more stories I want to tell.
> 
> Once again, thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. And as always, kiddos, I hope you have a wonderful day.


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